A Trip to the Consulate

Inspired by true events.

Leila: The Fiancée

Outside the Consulate, Istanbul – October 2, 2018

The wind gnawed at my skin, sharp as a blade. I stood on the narrow sidewalk, one foot rooted in the present, the other slipping into a future I didn’t want to see. My phone sat like a stone in my hand, its screen a black mirror, swallowing my reflection.

Three messages, each more desperate than the last. Are you okay? What’s taking so long? Please, answer me.

Nothing. No reply. No read receipts.

The city moved around me, a river I couldn’t wade into. People passed, their voices a hum beneath the honking of taxis and the grind of bus brakes. I stood apart, wrapped in a silence that pressed against my skin. My breath came in shallow gasps, the air sharp and metallic, tasting of exhaust and old stone.

Tariq had said it would be quick. Just a formality, a piece of paper to finalize his residency. He had been nervous, but he hid it well, his smile a tight line, his hands steady. He needed this. We both did.