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MidReal Story
The Unforgettable Kiss
Scenario:My name is Amelia,I always wanted to escape from this little world I was leaving,I wanted to travel,to try new things,to live…and to meet love! Until one day,in Istanbul I met him…I met the love in his eyes…but then I didn’t knew! But,again if someone asked me if I would choose to relive all of this again maybe just because of him despite the pain I would still answer yes…because he taught me love even if it was with his way…now after 2 years I am here again at this city,the city of love for me,sitting at the same bench as then and wondering where he is? Does he still thinks of me time to time? Or for him I was a “nothing”? Probably it was a bad idea to relive all of this and to do this to myself all over again…it would be better if I had stayed at Thessaloniki…
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Amelia
She is a romantic at heart,longing for love and adventure. She is dreamy,persistent,and resilient. After a painful breakup,she travels to Istanbul,seeking new experiences. There,she meets a mysterious man whose intense gaze leaves a lasting impression. Despite the city's chaos and her own struggles,she feels a deep connection. Over the years,she returns to Istanbul,drawn by memories and the hope of rekindling their encounter. Her journey reflects her quest for enduring love.
Lorenzo
He is Amelia's current partner,living in Thessaloniki. He is caring,dependable,and patient. Despite their relationship lasting two years,Amelia feels an absence of the deep love she desires,largely due to her lingering memories of the mysterious stranger in Istanbul. He provides stability but not the passion or connection she craves. His presence highlights Amelia's ongoing search for the elusive romantic fulfillment that her encounter with the stranger instilled in her.
Mysterious Stranger
He is a captivating figure with an undefined identity. He is intense,enigmatic,and profound. His piercing gaze and gentle touch leave Amelia emotionally scarred yet yearning for more. Their brief encounter remains the catalyst for her journey back to Istanbul years later. Although his appearance is fleeting and his true identity unknown,his impact on Amelia is profound,shaping her search for meaningful connection and love amidst personal struggles and doubts.
I always wanted to escape from this little world I was living in,I wanted to travel,to try new things,to live…and to meet love!
Until one day,in Istanbul I met him…
I met the love in his eyes…but then I didn’t knew!
But,again if someone asked me if I would choose to relive all of this again maybe just because of him despite the pain I would still answer yes…
Because he taught me love even if it was with his way…
Now after 2 years I am here again at this city,the city of love for me,sitting at the same bench as then and wondering where he is?
Does he still thinks of me time to time?
Or for him I was a “nothing”?
Probably it was a bad idea to relive all of this and to do this to myself all over again…
I pull my coat tighter around me to protect myself from the autumn cold and I look at the people passing by on the street,at the tourists that are coming to sit at this bench just like we did two years ago.
My fingers pass over the wood of the bench and I remember how his hand touched mine…how he made me feel…how he looked at me…
The smell of roasted chestnuts comes from a cart that is passing by and it reminds me of that day…of him!
My phone starts buzzing again with a new message from Lorenzo asking me when I will return to Thessaloniki.
I ignore it again and I take out of my purse a small notebook.
It’s the same one where I wrote his name two years ago!
The pages are all worn out because I read them so many times!
I open it and my fingers pass over the pages where I wrote his name so many times.
The ink has faded with time but the memories are still there!
A gust of wind passes by and it makes the yellow paper to rustle.
I grip the edge of one page and I hear the sound of it tearing apart.
It’s too loud for this quiet corner of the park!
One by one I rip out each page that has his name on it,his memory!
The pieces flutter between my fingers like wounded birds.
My hands shake while I release them and I watch how the wind disperses them all over the park!
As I watch the last scraps of paper dance away in the wind, someone settles onto the bench beside me.
I quickly wipe my eyes, embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable moment.
The stranger, an elderly woman with silver-streaked hair, doesn’t look at me directly.
Instead, she gazes at the scattered paper fragments, now settling in the grass.
Her weathered hands clutch a worn photograph, edges soft from years of handling.
Without prompting, she begins speaking in accented English about a man she loved in this very park decades ago.
The elderly woman gently unfolds the photograph, revealing a sepia-toned image of a young couple embracing near this very bench.
She tells me they were in love during a tumultuous time in 1960s Istanbul, amidst political upheaval.
Their families forbade them from seeing each other, but they defied the odds.
I notice her hands tremble as she speaks, and I recognize the pain in her voice.
Her lover disappeared during one of the protests, leaving her with only this photograph and unanswered questions.
My chest tightens as she describes how she waited on this very bench every autumn for five years, hoping he would return.
I clutch my phone, noticing three missed calls from Lorenzo, and wonder if I’m trapped in a similar cycle of futile waiting.
The elderly woman’s hands tremble as she tucks the photograph back into her worn leather purse.
Her story hangs in the air between us, heavy with decades of loss.
I watch her weathered fingers smooth down her skirt, remembering how my mysterious stranger's hands moved with the same deliberate care.
My phone buzzes again - Lorenzo's tenth message today.
The woman notices my screen lighting up and gives me a knowing look.
"Don't waste your years like I did," she says, standing slowly.
"Some loves are meant to teach us, not keep us."
Standing abruptly from the bench, I gather the scattered paper pieces, each one a reminder of my obsession.
The elderly woman's story has shaken me - her decades of waiting mirror my two years of holding onto a ghost.
My hands shake as I dump the torn pages into a nearby trash bin.
When my phone buzzes again with Lorenzo's call, I don't silence it this time.
Instead, I walk to the park entrance, passing the chestnut vendor where I first saw him.
I answer the call, ready to let go.
I walk away from the bench, phone pressed to my ear as Lorenzo's familiar "Hello?" fills the line.
The chestnut vendor looks up as I pass, smoke swirling around his cart in the autumn air.
My throat tightens as I rehearse the words in my head.
Two years of comfortable companionship with Lorenzo flash through my mind - movie nights, shared meals, gentle kisses that never quite ignited a spark.
But the elderly woman's story haunts me.
I stop at the park entrance, gripping the cold iron gate.
"Lorenzo," I manage, my voice barely steady.
"Hey, when's your return flight?"
Lorenzo asks, his voice warm but distant.
I lean against the gate, my phone growing slick in my palm.
The words stick in my throat as I watch people stroll past - couples holding hands, families sharing roasted chestnuts.
My free hand grips the cold metal harder, steadying myself.
"I don't think I'm coming back," I finally say, my voice trembling with the weight of the decision.
There's a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear Lorenzo's confusion.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his tone shifting from warmth to concern.
I lean my forehead against the gate, the cold seeping into my skin.
"I need time to find myself," I whisper, watching a leaf drift lazily to the ground.
The line goes silent, and for a moment, I wonder if the call has dropped.
But then I hear Lorenzo's breathing, heavy and uncertain.
"Is there someone else?" he asks, his voice cracking with hurt and confusion.
I close my eyes, thinking of the stranger who kissed me in the rain - his intensity, his passion.
But this isn't about him anymore.
This is about me, standing alone in a foreign city, finally understanding that I've been using both men as excuses to avoid facing myself.
"No," I say, my voice firm.
"There's no one else. This is about me."
I hear Lorenzo sigh, the sound carrying a mix of sadness and resignation.
"Okay," he says finally.
"I understand. Take care of yourself."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Thank you," I whisper, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
We hang up, and I slide down to sit on a nearby stone wall, my legs suddenly weak.
The evening call to prayer echoes across the city, the muezzin's voice carrying on the wind.
I pull out my phone again, this time opening my travel booking app.
My fingers hover over potential destinations - Paris, Rome, Barcelona - places I've always dreamed of visiting but held back from while anchored to relationships.
The muezzin's voice fades into the distance as I scroll through flight options, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then I see it - a last-minute deal to Madrid leaving tomorrow morning.
I book the ticket, feeling a thrill of freedom I haven't known in years.