“My Blank Love” is a tender exploration of a love that was never spoken, never named — yet deeply felt. It’s the story of emotions left unwritten, of silences that held more truth than words ever could. This love didn’t need definitions; it lived quietly in glances, in pauses, in pages that remained blank… yet full. A tale of incomplete confessions and eternal connection.
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My Blank Love
Chapter One – The River That Remembered
The wind moved slowly, brushing against the lonely strands of Zoboriya’s hair that had escaped her scarf. The river beside her flowed with a hush — a quiet lullaby that only those carrying silent grief could understand.
She stood still, hands folded in front of her, the smell of wet stone and distant jasmine thick in the air. Behind her, the small Turkish town of Safranbolu breathed in its soft morning calm. But inside her?
A storm she hadn’t named.
A love she hadn’t confessed.
A pain she never expected to carry.
She looked at the water again, wondering if it remembered that moment —
the exact second her world had shifted.
> “If only he hadn’t come that day…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“If only Abu Zarr had never stood in front of me.”
But he had.
And like a sudden gust in the middle of a still afternoon, he had shaken her soul awake.
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It was early spring, the trees still dressing themselves in fresh green, and the cafés along the cobbled path hadn’t yet filled with tourists. That afternoon, three years ago, she had come to this same river, carrying nothing but a journal and a tired heart.
She had wanted silence.
She had wanted to sit and not be seen.
But he had found her anyway.
“Zoboriya.”
His voice had come from behind — firm, familiar, breaking the very air around her.
She had closed her eyes first.
Then turned.
And there he was.
Not as the Abu Zarr she remembered — the boy with laughter tucked in his collar and stars in his voice — but a man now. Quieter. Older. And with eyes that looked like they hadn’t rested in weeks.
He hadn’t smiled.
He hadn’t spoken again.
He had just looked at her —
like she was a story he still didn’t understand how to finish.
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> “Why did you come?” she had asked, her fingers tightening around the pen in her lap.
He had shrugged slightly, his gaze not leaving hers.
> “Because I wasn’t done.”
She had laughed. Not the soft kind, but the one that hides wounds.
> “You were the one who left. You were the one who turned your love into silence.”
He didn’t defend himself. He just stepped closer.
> “Maybe I thought your silence would match mine.”
That day, everything blurred — the river, the air, her breath.
He had come back,
but not to explain.
Not to apologize.
Not to say he still loved her.
He had just come — and in that moment, it was both too much and never enough.
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Now, years later, standing again by the same river, Zoboriya wondered what remained of that afternoon.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
> “You left your noise behind, Abu Zarr.
But you left your silence inside me.”
The wind answered her this time, rustling the pages of her old notebookP — the one that still carried his name in ink that had begun to fade.
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To be continued…
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My Blank Love
Chapter 2 – The Eyes That Read Silence
Inside the largest university library in Turkey,
amid hundreds of people around her,
Zoboriya felt strangely alone.
She sat in a quiet corner,
where a soft yellow light gently spilled onto her book —
and the silence in the air only made her heart’s voice louder.
In her hands was a book titled:
“He was mine, but never really belonged to me.”
Each page peeled away her emotions layer by layer.
In every word, she saw glimpses of Abu Zarr.
Each line pulled her back into an old, fading evening.
Tears were silently falling from her eyes —
as if someone was quietly breaking inside her.
She slowly closed the book…
took a deep breath and looked around —
thankfully, no one was watching.
Quietly, she took out her handkerchief,
wiped her tears…
and whispered to herself:
> “Oh Abu Zarr… why did you do this?”
There was a storm within her,
but her face remained calm —
as if nothing had ever happened.
What she didn’t know was…
From across a table,
from behind a pile of books,
a pair of eyes had been watching her for a long time.
Eyes filled with a strange kind of sorrow —
like something unfinished lived there too.
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The one who owned those eyes remained silent.
But his gaze never left her —
the flutter of her lashes,
the glisten of her tears,
the breath she took in Abu Zarr’s name…
He wasn't Abu Zarr.
But he wasn’t entirely a stranger either.
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His soft whisper never reached Zoboriya —
but a strange hush in the air told her…
someone was there.
Zoboriya slowly turned her head.
From behind the tall stack of books,
the boy hid for a moment.
But it was already too late.
Zoboriya had sensed it —
someone was silently witnessing her broken love.
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Chapter 3 – Where Love Was Still Speaking
Walking out from the cold walls and heavy silence of the library,
Zoboriya steadied her breath in her chest.
She looked up at the sky for a moment —
blue, open, but still something inside her felt heavy.
Her feet began walking on their own…
leading her to that hidden path,
to a place she always called “her refuge.”
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To reach there,
she had to cross a narrow trail of stone,
where the wind grew gentler with every turn.
And at last…
she arrived.
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Trees surrounded her —
lush green branches swaying softly,
and birds chirping above
as if the world was still breathing through an old forgotten song.
A small river flowed nearby —
its water moving so gently,
it felt like even the river was hiding something deep inside.
Zoboriya noticed a couple sitting at a distance —
smiling,
close,
looking into each other’s eyes as if they could see their tomorrow.
A faint, unfinished smile touched her lips…
but never made it to her eyes.
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She quietly sat down on a stone —
one that seemed to have waited for her.
Her scarf fluttered lightly in the breeze,
slipping off her shoulder and touching the earth —
as if her soul had grown weary too.
She rested her hands in her lap,
and let out a long, tired breath.
> “Sometimes it feels like the world is full of color,”
she thought silently,
“but my world is painted in fog…
a dark haze that swallows every bit of light I reach for.”
Her eyes were still damp —
but now, tears didn’t fall.
They had become an old habit… something that lived quietly within.
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What she didn’t know was…
That same boy from the library…
had followed her there.
Standing at a little distance,
he simply watched her.
He had never held love —
he had only seen it… breaking.
And now, for the first time,
he saw someone who carried the same silence as him.
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To be continued…
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writing
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afsana
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