It had been some time since he finished university, and with tireless effort, he was looking for a job related to his field. Initially, he eagerly applied to multiple companies, but over time, one rejection after another came. Each time he received an email, it felt like another blow to his heart. That initial enthusiasm had turned into despair. When only a few companies reject you, you remain hopeful, but when hundreds respond negatively, you can no longer endure it. Disappointment is like a wound that deepens with every rejection, whether it’s from an individual or a company. Both are equally discouraging.

After six months of fruitless searching, his patience had run out. He finally decided to ask a friend of his, who owned a construction company, for help. He called his friend and asked for work. His friend, who needed workers, agreed and said, “Come tomorrow. It’s simple work, but it’s better than being unemployed for now.”

The workplace was far. Every morning, he had to wake up very early, put on his work clothes, and drive for an hour to reach the site. One hot summer day, he had to ride with one of his coworkers. But this time, unlike usual, their route took them past a large cemetery. A vast cemetery with tombs from different religions and ethnicities. First were the graves of Christians, with white marble and black granite stones, followed by the graves of Jews adorned with decorated stones, and finally, the graves of the Chinese covered with red stones and Chinese engravings. After passing these, it was the turn of the Muslim graves, which were inscribed with Quranic verses.

His friend calmly said, “This route is shorter, and we avoid the red lights. That’s why I choose it.”

He reluctantly agreed and decided to take this route every day. On the second day, as they passed the Muslim graves near a fountain in the middle of a square, he saw an old woman with a blue scarf sitting on a stone bench. At that hour, when it wasn’t fully light yet, the dim car lights slightly illuminated the cemetery. The old woman was calmly reading the Quran. The scene seemed strange; he thought to himself, “How is a Muslim woman sitting here alone this early in the morning?”

This question lingered in his mind. In the days that followed, as they took the same route, he saw the old woman again, sitting in the same spot, reading the Quran. In the evenings on their way back, he would also see her walking calmly toward the Muslim graves with the Quran under her arm. Over time, he got used to seeing her. He began to expect her presence every day, and sometimes on the way back, he would slow down the car and greet her. Occasionally, he would buy her a cold drink from the gas station. These silent encounters became a kind of solace for him, as if the old woman had become a part of his daily routine, a piece of his journey that repeated every day.

But one day, when he reached the usual spot, the old woman was gone. It was as if something was missing from his life. He spent that day with anxiety and anticipation, but there was no sign of her in the evening either. Suddenly, a strange worry settled in his heart. “Where has she gone? Is she sick?” These endless questions occupied his mind. The next day, she wasn’t there, and the days after that, too. Every morning and evening, he passed the same route, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Weeks passed, and he still remembered the old woman. Even at night before falling asleep, he wondered what had happened to her. This thought took root in his mind to the point where he couldn’t think of anything else. The old woman had become a mystery he couldn’t solve.

One day, after being laid off from his job, he woke up very early. It was as if something had woken him. He looked at the clock; it was four-thirty in the morning. He could have gone back to sleep, but something inside him pulled him toward the cemetery. He got up without thinking, dressed, and hurriedly made his way to the cemetery. When he got there, he went to the same bench and sat down. He waited, hoping the old woman would come. But no matter how long he waited, there was no sign of her. He felt empty, as if the bench had no meaning without her. Days and weeks passed in the same way, and every morning and evening, he went to the cemetery, hoping to see her again. In this waiting, he found a kind of attachment, an attachment to something he couldn’t clearly define.

Until one morning, he finally saw her from afar. The same blue scarf, the same hunched figure. His heart raced. He parked the car by the side of the road and quickly went toward her. As he approached, he smiled and greeted her, but the old woman slowly turned her head. What he saw stopped his heart. The old woman’s face was horribly disfigured. Bloodshot eyes, a mouth that seemed to stretch from her chin to her forehead, and large teeth that grotesquely protruded. Terrified, he stepped back. A strange, horrifying voice reached his ears: “Where are you going? Weren’t you waiting for me?”

He ran to his car in panic, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t open the door. His hands were trembling, and his entire body had frozen. Suddenly, he heard the honk of another car, and the next moment, he found himself in the air. In the blink of an eye, he hit the ground, and intense pain spread through his body. Blood was pouring from his head and flowing down the street. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He felt himself drifting into sleep, slowly slipping into darkness.

But a voice woke him up. A familiar voice calling his name. Slowly, he regained consciousness and realized that his friend was calling him. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed. His friend said worriedly, “You were dreaming? You were screaming.”