Page 21 of The Book of Heartbreak

‘You must have utmost caution, canim. The devil named Leon is a curse-breaker, and he will pester you. You can’t afford to tell him of the curse!

I’ll sense it if you did, for there are ways to alert me to its utterance, but I still fear he may unravel your secret some other way.

There are ways to learn things without hearing them. I fear . . . of those.’

‘If there are such ways . . .’ I hesitate, recalling Leon’s reveal about the nature of Munu’s bosses, ‘why didn’t you once try to explain who you’re working for? It wasn’t fun to hear it from Leon.’

‘W-what?’ Munu stutters. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You work for angels, don’t you?’

I expect her to cackle, call it rubbish, brush me off. But she doesn’t.

‘What?’ Munu’s face drains of colour, and she flies off the chaise longue, away from me.

‘I get it, you can’t speak about it. But Leon said these angels can’t trace writing.

’ I feel sad all of a sudden. Exhausted from everything I’ve uncovered, and the ambiguity of who to trust. ‘I asked you countless times and you had every chance to explain. But you never once made the effort to reveal anything to me. Am I not trustworthy enough, after everything we’ve been through together? ’

My heartbeats pick a dangerous rhythm.

Rule number two, I recite. Channel sorrow into rage.

Rage.

I don’t have to work hard. The anger is raw, simmering.

I prepare myself to ask Munu why, since my arrival in Istanbul, my problems have only multiplied and she’s been increasingly absent, leaving me alone to navigate the challenges without offering any help.

Or why she’s so against the idea of breaking the curse.

What if there’s a chance – a sliver of hope – that I could become normal? Why doesn’t she care?

But, seeing how distressed Munu is and how my heart drums in my chest, I force myself to keep my mouth shut and just pretend to be okay – as I always do.

Munu is already losing her shit about Leon, and I can’t add to her troubles.

Surely, there will be solid reasons behind this secrecy.

Munu would never betray me. Everyone else may pose a threat to my heart, but she can’t be one of them.

‘Sare,’ Munu falters, fluttering in the air again, as though searching for a way to escape my questions. ‘My boss and I – we have a history that binds me to him. We have . . . a contract. It’s not like you think. I’m not hiding anything from you. I’m bound to be loyal.’

‘So it’s true?’ I drop my voice to a whisper. ‘Your boss is an . . . angel?’

Munu glides down softly beside me and gives one sharp nod.

‘And you’re sure you never heard of a Theodora?’ I ask. ‘She was cursed too.’

‘That name doesn’t ring a bell.’ Munu whips her head. ‘Now, don’t see that boy again. He may be hot, I get it. But he’s not a mere eighteen-year-old with whom you can have a summer fling. I’m worried you’ll develop feelings for him, Sare. People like him . . . They use you. They ruin everything.’

‘You think—’ I cut her off, a bit louder than I intended.

Then I feel it again. The subtle fluttering.

Instinctively, my hand travels to my chest, pressing against my heart as if to stop it, like placing a palm over a mouth to hush a whisper.

I start again. ‘You think I’m falling for a boy I just met, and I’m so unlovable that he’ll be the end of me? ’

‘No, Sare,’ Munu whispers. ‘I don’t mean it like that.’

‘You’re an idiot if you think he’s what I care about,’ I burst out, ignoring the fluttering in my chest. ‘It’s the book! It’s the claim – the hope of breaking this bloody curse once and for all that I’m after. Not Leon.’

Rule number two , I repeat. Channel sorrow into rage, Sare, you have every reason to be angry.

‘You’re the one who never tells me anything,’ I press on. ‘You’re the one who keeps me in the dark. Perhaps that’s why you think Leon is a trickster or a con artist – because you recognise yourself in him.’

I take a deep breath, embracing my anger like a crisp fire on a cold night.

The fluttering dies a slow death in my chest.

‘You used to be grateful, canim. Not everyone with a deadly curse is given so many blessings to stay alive.’ Munu, my sole confidante all these years, rises from the sheets, her expression fraught with disappointment.

‘The boy has poisoned your mind. He’s already turning you against me.

He seeks to drive us apart. He will fail you.

That’s what people like him do. Please, stop listening to him before it’s too late. ’

‘What if I don’t?’ I’m sick of being ordered around. Sick of knowing so little.

‘Then I can’t protect you, even from yourself,’ she says. ‘We’re so close to your eighteenth. Once the curse takes away your heart, you will never experience sadness again. Don’t you get it? Love is the true curse.’

And with that, she departs with a loud crack, leaving me with a silence almost too hard to bear.

Munu’s absence stretches over several days like a deliberate punishment, as if she intends to teach me a lesson by making me acutely aware of the void she leaves behind. The house brims with an oppressive silence and I swing between fretting over her safety and feeling enraged.

As if falling out with Munu cast a new curse on me, I can no longer find the courage to reach out to Leon, even though I thirst to read Sufi Chelebi’s journals, to understand how one can break a curse, if such a thing really can be achieved.

The Maiden’s Tower and the image of Theodora cast long, sombre shadows over my days, even when I receive two invitations from Leon in writing, delivered by Azmi, who seems strangely thrilled that the most handsome boy in the neighbourhood is seeking out my company.

‘Looks like you have an admirer.’ He winks at me when he hands over the first note. I don’t bother reading it.

When he brings the second note, he teases, ‘I can’t tell if you’re playing hard to get or just aren’t interested.’

Now accustomed to Azmi’s over-friendliness, I stare dully at the white paper, at Leon’s handwriting in silver ink.

I’ll wait for you this evening. 6 p.m. by the docks. Please, Silverbirch. We need to talk. L.

‘Azmi,’ I tell him in all seriousness as I crumple the note in my palm. ‘Please don’t bring me any more notes. I know where to find him if I need to.’

Guilt gnaws at me all afternoon as I wonder how long it’ll be till Leon realises that I won’t show up.

Still, I’m determined not to see him. A part of me is convinced that he won’t lose sleep over being stood up, but another urges me to reach out, to give him a chance to unveil the mysteries of the Hidden and to dive into a book that promises a world where curses can be broken.

And The Book of Heartbreak . . . I can’t forget about it. I dream of it, as if it’s been written only for me. As if I really am Theodora. I dream of myself in the tower, with the book between my hands.

‘Break the curse,’ the pages whisper. ‘But be careful – do not fall in love. Remember what happened to Sufi Chelebi.’

The gleam of the gilded letters on the journal blinds me like a flash of lightning.

Then I remember Sufi’s haunting foreword, cautioning his unfortunate reader of the unyielding thirst for truth his writing will provoke, or the danger of losing one’s perception if they don’t possess the necessary eyes.

I’m frightened – frightened of the thirst, frightened of my heart, that I lack the necessary insight.

And more than anything, I’m frightened of losing Munu.

A week into my seclusion, Leon shows up at the house.

The afternoon’s muted silence has driven me to the garden and I’m determined to distract myself with Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita , until the distinctive sound of Azmi’s flip-flops slapping the ground interrupts my visit to Bolshevik Moscow.

‘You have a visitor waiting inside,’ he announces with an amused expression as he fans himself vigorously against the heat. ‘You told me to dismiss the notes, but not the writer, yes?’

I sigh, but still drag myself from my chair to follow Azmi reluctantly back inside the house.

In the foyer, Leon is even taller than I’d remembered, his hands casually tucked into his pockets in an attempt to appear at ease. But the clench of his jaw betrays his tension.

‘I’m not used to being stood up, so I thought I’d come and be dismissed in person, as you’re so eager to offer the experience.’ Leon’s voice carries a mock hurt. ‘But if not, I need a word with you. In private, please.’

‘I’m not sure why you ever assumed I’d come,’ I retort. ‘Perhaps other girls run when you click your fingers, but I’m not one of them.’

‘Oh, you most certainly aren’t.’ Leon’s gaze drifts over my shoulder and his expression shifts, his hands slipping out of his pockets. I turn to see Muzaffer walking down the stairs to stand beneath the archway. As he draws near, to my relief, I realise he’s getting ready to leave.

‘May I take Sare out, Mr Gümüshus?’ Leon asks Muzaffer before anyone has the chance to speak. I roll my eyes. Why would Muzaffer have any say if Leon can talk with me or not?

Muzaffer seems to agree with me, as his glance darts between us.

The wardrobe creaks as he retrieves his hat and walking stick.

Bocek leaps down from the top of the wardrobe, landing soundlessly beside him.

She stretches luxuriously, as if she’s been lounging there all along, then winds herself around Muzaffer’s ankles while he slips into his shoes without any acknowledgment of Leon’s request.

‘Don’t stay out late,’ he grunts. ‘And don’t let the cat out.’

Leon and I linger on the steps leading to the modest front garden after Muzaffer departs.

‘Your grandfather is quite the character,’ Leon remarks.

‘Is that why you sought his permission to –’ I pause, to mimic his voice – ‘take me out?’

He chuckles at my effort to copy him and proceeds towards the road. I find myself following.