…she pushed away the anxiety as she came out of the shock caused by Serhat’s sudden appearance.

– Leave my OR immediately! – Bahar commanded.

The sound of her voice jolted everyone to attention — except Evren. He was staring at Serhat. Frozen. The scalpel in his hand hadn’t moved, but he hadn’t made the incision either.

– Don’t you dare, Evren! – Serhat was ready to rush toward him.

Evren stood paralyzed, eyes locked on him. The monitors beeped in warning.

– Evren, – she called his name loudly. – Evren, continue! – Bahar pleaded without lifting her head, extracting the baby.

– No! – Serhat stepped forward, but Rengin grabbed his arm, stopping him.

– Serhat, – she pulled him back, – you're breaking every protocol! Leave! – she demanded, holding a mask to her face. – Serhat! – she wouldn’t let go of his arm.

– I'm not just the father, I'm her doctor! – he refused to back down.

– You’re nobody here! – Bahar raised her head and nodded to Rengin. – This is my OR! – she didn’t even look at Serhat. – Evren, – without looking, she handed the still-living baby to the assistant. – Evren, now! We’re losing her, Evren! – she finally got him to look at her. – Evren, we continue, – her voice softened but didn’t lose its firmness.

– We’re losing her, – Siren kept her eyes on the monitors.

Bahar nodded at him slightly. Eye to eye. She took a deep breath without looking away. They began to breathe in unison, like during past surgeries—one breath, one team. He immediately remembered why he was there.

– Opening the chest, – Evren bowed his head.

Serhat lunged forward, but Rengin pulled him back. Doruk spread his arms, shielding Evren from the side. Bahar knew he wouldn’t let Serhat near him.

– Don’t you dare! – Serhat shouted, but Rengin literally shoved him out of the OR.

– Pericardial line incision! Direct massage! – Evren was touching the damaged heart.

Bahar froze. Silence fell in the operating room, broken only by the beeping monitors warning of danger. Everyone stood still. Only Evren was acting.

– 0.5 adrenaline, – he manually massaged the myocardium. – One, two, three.

– Sinus! Rhythm, – Siren exhaled.

– We’ve got her back, – Bahar lowered her head.

She tried not to look at the heart, at how Evren was stitching the chest closed. Bahar knew well — this heart was now engraved in his memory. In that moment, Esra became his patient too. Whether Serhat liked it or not, Evren wouldn’t let go now — not until he found her a heart.

Guided by ultrasound, Bahar adjusted the placenta’s pressure angle, and the second baby’s weak pulse grew stronger, as if now it was fighting for its life too.

– Second fetus stabilized, – Bahar reported briefly.

Evren glanced at the monitor, realizing she’d just saved another life—and that he had taken part in it.

The heart. Wrecked. She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the surgery. The monitors were still screaming, but she already felt — the second baby was holding on. She shifted it slightly, stabilized the pressure, and the pulse slowed— steady and calm.

– Let’s finish, – Bahar finally said.

– Pressure check? – Evren echoed.

– Blood flow is stable, – Siren reported crisply. – Vitals are climbing.

Bahar and Evren lifted their heads at the same time, their eyes meeting. All they could see were each other’s eyes, faces hidden behind masks — but they were smiling. They had performed that same miracle again, the one they could only achieve together, despite everything and everyone. Their teamwork was returning. She didn’t want to think about what came next, but working with him was pure joy.

– We did it, – Bahar whispered.

– We did, – Evren whispered back.

They left the OR together, their shoulders lightly brushing. Their first surgery as colleagues — she leading, he assisting. They removed their gowns, masks, gloves, washed their hands. They were almost smiling when they stepped into the corridor.

– What? – Serhat rushed to her, ignoring Evren as if he didn’t exist.

Rengin stood behind him, watching. She had been by his side the entire operation.

– Your daughter is alive, – Bahar said flatly, without emotion. – One fetus removed, the other stabilized.

Serhat exhaled, covered his face with his hands, and crouched down, his back against the wall.

– Heart is stable, – Bahar continued. – Esra will remain under our care.

Evren stood behind Bahar, silent, watching Serhat.

– You went all the way? – Serhat looked at Evren, breathing heavily.

– I continued—and I will finish, – Evren’s voice was firm but quieter.

Bahar turned. Evren touched her elbow.

– You did good, – Rengin whispered.

– I don’t feel that way, – Bahar still felt the living fetus in her hands when she had pulled it out. When she’d cut the umbilical cord—she’d ended its life with her own hands.

– You gave her a chance, – Serhat was still crouched, unable to stand.

– I didn’t save them all, – Evren’s fingers gently squeezed her elbow.

– Who could have? – Serhat asked, once again covering his face with his hands.

Evren didn’t leave, but he didn’t want to stay with Rengin and Serhat either. It was as if he silently demanded that she come with him—and she did, understanding one thing: those two knew each other. They had a shared past…

***

…it was over, passed… no, it was only just beginning. Serhat slowly stood up and leaned against the wall. Rengin didn’t leave. She even touched his hand, as if she understood that what he needed now wasn’t professional detachment, but human presence.

– We all knew this day would come, – he finally managed to get his emotions under control. – But I still wasn’t ready, – he admitted.

– Let’s go to my office, – Rengin offered and took his arm.

– I want to see her, – he tried to stop.

– In a little while, – she said calmly.

– We can sit here, – they reached a small couch and sat down. – I thought that if I talked about it clinically, medically, it would be easier, – he confessed, closing his eyes and leaning back.

– But it wasn’t, was it? – she touched his hand and gently squeezed his wrist.

– On the contrary, – he shook his head, squeezing her fingers in return. – Inside, everything opened up even more, – he briefly touched his chest with his free hand and then dropped it. – And now her heart, – he half-opened his eyes and looked at her. – Her already damaged heart is now even more wounded. How much more can it take? – his eyes turned red. – Every day for her now… is a countdown.

– Serhat, – Rengin clasped his hand in both of hers. – We’re used to being strong, because we have to be, – she stared through him. – Lately, I keep thinking who’ll be there for my daughter if I’m gone.

He looked at her for a long moment.

– I didn’t know Timur. I’m sorry, – his fingers moved slightly in her hands. – I raised my daughter alone.

– I raised Parla almost entirely on my own too, even though I was married… but it was just an attempt. It didn’t work, – she admitted. – Things didn’t work out with Timur either. Now my daughter lives with Bahar, – she suddenly felt no urge to play any role. There was no point hiding anymore. – She and Umay are the same age. Umay is Bahar’s and Timur’s daughter, – she explained.

Serhat didn’t look away, but there was no judgment in his gaze.

– Looks like we have the same survival tactics, – he almost smiled, but his eyes were still full of concern for his daughter.

– We need you, Serhat, – Rengin sighed.

– We? – he clarified. – I thought you preferred those who keep their distance.

– I’ve stayed on the sidelines for too long. Maybe it’s time to step out of the shadows, – she whispered. – I plan to change a lot, – she smiled, releasing his hands and offering her right one. – Welcome to Peraan Hospital, Professor Serhat Özer.

– Ready to be fully involved, – he gripped her hand firmly. – Professor Rengin.

Rengin gently freed her hand and rose from the couch. She could’ve felt awkward, but no—she simply smiled, nodded, and walked away. In those few minutes, they had switched so many roles, yet she hadn’t tried to perform or hide her true feelings. For the first time, she didn’t need to justify herself.

Rengin paused, steadying herself against the wall, and turned back. Serhat was sitting on the couch, hands clasped before him, as if in prayer. His eyes were closed, and in that moment she understood—Evren had been right when he said it was only just beginning…

***

…Evren knew for certain—it was only beginning. Their past wasn’t over; it had resurfaced, dragging everyone around them into its vortex. Bahar let him lead her away, but that didn’t mean she would stay silent, or not ask questions. They walked to her office together. He opened the door and let her in.

Bahar stood with her back to him. She heard the door close firmly behind them. It was the first time he’d been here—the first time they were alone together in her space. Everything was new. She swallowed hard. Their first operation as colleagues, when she was fully in charge, no longer leaning on anyone. And he had been there—right there with her. They were a team again. But it was all different now.

She reacted sharply to every one of his movements behind her. He was looking around, touching things, as if making himself at home in her space. She swallowed again, unwilling to stop him, barely holding herself back from turning around.

– Thank you for letting me, – his voice came close to her ear before his hands touched her shoulders, gently squeezing them. His lips brushed her cheek.

– I didn’t give you permission for that, – she whispered, but she didn’t try to pull away.

Then he embraced her from behind, pulling her close, one hand under her chest. Breathing her in, he buried his face in her neck.

– Today, in your OR, – his lips grazed her skin as he spoke – I felt alive again, – he confessed. – You do that to me. Only you make me feel this alive.

Her hands rose involuntarily and touched his wrist. Her breath quickened. She let him hold her, nearly kiss her, without pulling away.

– With Esra’s file, you told me you wanted me in that OR, – he continued. – You said the code word—heart, – he breathed in the scent of her perfume.

Her heart… it was ready to leap from her chest. She tilted her head back slightly, her lips trembling, but she said nothing. She had spoken so much—now she just listened.

– You knew I’d be in the sterile zone when you started the surgery, you knew, – he nodded, his lips brushing her neck.

With his other hand, he removed the clip from her hair, letting it fall. He nudged her toward the desk, then quickly turned her around in his arms. Her palms landed on his shoulders. He stepped forward, pressing her back against the desk.

– Evren, – her name slipped from her lips.

He leaned into her, their lips almost touching, but he hesitated, studying her from under lowered lashes.

– I never did this in your office, – she whispered against his lips.

He smiled, savoring the moment—she was finally in his arms, close, not resisting, soft, yielding. She saw that smile. Her eyebrows twitched slightly, tension tightening her body in his grasp.

– Who is Serhat? – she asked, her hands pushing at his shoulders.

Evren’s face changed, but he didn’t let go.

– Everyone has a past, Bahar, – he said, holding her firmly.

– You don’t just know mine, – she shot back. – You lived it, Evren.

– You seriously want to talk about this right now? – he almost kissed her again, but she leaned back to avoid it.

– And you seriously think everything’s allowed now? – she pushed at his shoulders, and with a clenched jaw, he stepped back and let go.

– Was it him on the terrace with you? – he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Bahar gave a dry laugh and walked around the desk. She pulled out her chair and sat down—her legs were giving out. First the intense surgery, then Evren with his embrace… everything inside her was a mess. She didn’t know what was happening—with herself, or with them.

– You think you have the right to ask me that? – now she was the one in the doctor’s chair, and he stood across from her.

Evren leaned on the desk with both hands, bending toward her. He was about to respond—when a knock came, and the door opened. Bahar and Evren turned at the same time. Naz was standing in the doorway.

– You can ask her, – Bahar shot up from the chair and nearly stormed out.

Then she stopped, looked at Evren, then at Naz. This was her space. Her one place she was still claiming. The place where she was a doctor—not a woman caught between two others. And now, once again, she was torn.

– This is my office, – she snapped, frowning, arms crossed.

– Bahar, can I talk to you? – Naz looked uncomfortable, awkward, like she knew she’d walked in on something.

– Sorry, I have nothing to say to you, – Bahar said sharply, no longer thinking straight.

She vividly remembered making a fool of herself at his door, when he’d said they didn’t live together. Then that photo. And now Naz at her office door. It all felt like some nightmarish repeat. But she refused to continue the farce.

– No. And again—no, – Bahar raised her hands and finally left the office, leaving Evren and Naz behind.

– Bahar, – Evren called after her. – Bahar!

– Evren, – Naz touched his elbow, but he jerked away from her touch.

– Bahar, stop! – he demanded, catching up and grabbing her arm.

– Evren, let go, – she snapped, too harshly, but he pulled her back, forcing her to stop and turn.

Over his shoulder, she caught Naz’s gaze—still standing by the door. She had only stepped into the office once its owner left.

Bahar looked from Naz to Evren—but saw something else. She saw how Naz had kissed him by his office. A sudden urge surged inside her—to kiss him right there, in front of Naz. And he wouldn’t have minded. But the whole situation left her feeling sick. She didn’t want to compete. She didn’t want to win or lose. She wanted peace—she wanted to live their story quietly. They were one step away from starting a new chapter… and something kept pulling them apart.

– Don’t make a scene, – she whispered, trying to pry his fingers free. – Go calm your girlfriend.

– That’s exactly what I’m doing, Bahar, – Evren tightened his grip, looking into her eyes.

– You’re drawing attention, – she whispered, glancing around. – People just stopped talking about us, – and groaned inwardly as she spotted Ahu peeking from around a corner.

– I’ll kiss you right now, – he exhaled into her lips, – give them something to talk about.

– If you do that… – she pressed her hands to his chest, not finishing the sentence, but her look said it all.

Her gaze could’ve scorched him. She wasn’t joking. All color had drained from her face. Ferdi nearly bumped into Ahu, rushing around the corner.

– Professor Evren, – Doruk ran up, out of breath. – You left your phone in the OR. They’ve been calling—Cem’s trying to reach you, – he shoved the phone between them, showing the screen.

– You didn’t say you’re not mine, – Evren whispered so quietly only she could hear, as Doruk wedged between them, panting, trying to separate them.

Bahar knew Doruk wouldn’t succeed unless Evren let go on his own. Evren could’ve pushed back—and Doruk wouldn’t stand a chance.

– Let go, – she whispered. – And talk to Naz!

– We lived your past, Bahar—now it’s time to live mine, – his voice was dark, foreboding.

He was angry. Very angry. But so was she—her glare was fire. And it worked. He let go of her fingers—but steadied her so she wouldn’t fall. Doruk stepped between them immediately, shielding her from Evren.

– Professor, your phone, – he shoved it into Evren’s hand, turned back, and walked down the hallway with Bahar.

***

…she was practically running down the corridor until she suddenly stopped —so abruptly that Doruk almost crashed into her. He clearly hadn’t expected her to halt like that.

– Reha, – she whispered. – What’s his condition? – she turned to him. – Doruk, where is he? – she nervously tucked her hair back, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks.

Shame surged through her. She had completely forgotten about him. Evren had scrambled all her thoughts.

– His condition is stable, – Doruk was still catching his breath. – There was an ischemic episode, with pre-infarction changes. We performed a coronary angiography—he’s a candidate for bypass surgery, – he reported, wiping sweat from his forehead.

– He needs to be prepped for surgery, – she concluded. – What room is he in? Does my mother know?

– We haven’t told Gulçicek yet—we were waiting for you, – he admitted.

– Come on, – she said, for some reason calling him along.

Doruk led her to the professor’s room. Bahar grasped the door handle and froze. On this side of the door, she was still a doctor—but once she stepped inside, she became family. Yet she couldn’t shed her medical role either. She exhaled, inhaled deeply, then opened the door and entered.

Reha was dozing. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Bahar closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them. She couldn’t even imagine what she would’ve told her mother if something had happened to him.

He lay beneath a drip. Just yesterday, he was saving patients—and today he was the one being treated. She approached and sat down beside him. Without opening his eyes, he moved his hand slightly, sensing her presence.

– You were on the edge, – she whispered, touching his hand. – Reha, that’s not fair, – she lowered her head. – It wouldn’t have been fair if we’d lost you there, in my OR! When you collapsed, I couldn’t even let myself imagine that my mother might become a widow again. I wouldn’t have survived that, – she admitted. – Everyone expects strength from me, – her voice cracked, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

– I just… – he whispered, eyes still shut.

– You can’t let yourself get upset, – Bahar lifted her head, exhaling shakily, holding back the tears. – Not at your age, do you understand? Esra on the table—her heart stopped. My mother, Evren, the kids, the grandkids… and then you collapse. And I’m alone, – she sniffled. – How am I supposed to split myself for everyone when there’s only one of me? I’m not made of iron, Reha… and I’m tired, – she gripped his hand. – I shouldn’t admit that, but it’s the truth. I don’t even know what it’s like to be your daughter. You haven’t even had the chance to be my father yet. It’s not fair, Reha.

He didn’t reply. He only squeezed her hand. He just lay there, and she just sat there silently. The monitor showed his rhythm, his pressure. But there was strength in his fingers. He wasn’t giving up—not now. Reha was alive.

– We’re prepping you for surgery, – Bahar managed to stand, slipping back into her doctor’s mindset.

She left his room, braiding her hair as she walked—Evren had taken her hair clip, and she didn’t even know where he’d put it.

– Bahar, – Doruk was waiting patiently by the door. – Your phone, – he held out her mobile.

She exhaled and nodded. Her thoughts had finally cleared.

– Who’s the attending physician? – she asked Doruk, switching on the screen.

– Professor Serhat, – he informed her.

– Then let’s go find him, – she said, dialing Gulçicek’s number as she walked, holding the phone to her ear, listening to the ringing…

***

…the phone buzzed again with rapid rings. Cem ended the call and pulled his cap lower, as if trying to disappear. He walked down the long corridor, hope of finding Evren fading with every step.

Since that morning, when Evren had announced he was staying and would work at the hospital, they hadn’t seen each other. They needed to talk. Cem wanted his brother’s support—especially after Naz had fired him. He felt like punching the wall but instead just adjusted the strap of his backpack, digging into his shoulder.

Hearing laughter and loud conversation ahead, he almost turned down a side hallway to avoid familiar faces. Running into Doruk had been enough for today. But then he caught what they were talking about—and stopped.

– You didn’t see it, – Ferdi’s smug, confident voice was unmistakable. – I’m telling you, they’re definitely together.

– No. He’s not with Naz, he’s with Bahar, – Ahu threw her arms up, full drama mode. – That surgery! I saw it all. He walks in like some superhero, and she’s like, “Evren, Evren, look at me!” – Ahu mimicked dramatically. – And then! Esra’s father bursts in, everyone in masks, sterile zone chaos — and Bahar? She doesn’t see a thing, just stares at him. And then he grabs her hand — if it weren’t for Naz, they would’ve kissed for sure!

– I’m still betting on Naz, – Ferdi grumbled stubbornly. – She’s way too confident. You don’t just loiter by Bahar’s office like that unless you’ve got something to prove.

– Did you see how Bahar looked at her? – Ahu stepped in front of him. – She was ready to sterilize her with her eyes!

– Bahar and sterile zones—weren’t you just saying the OR was compromised during her surgery? – Ferdi laughed. – The patient’s heart stops, and they’re busy making googly eyes!

Cem shrank back against the wall, fists clenched, as if trying to blend into it.

– People say it’s over between them, – chimed in a girl Cem didn’t know, – but the way he grabbed her hand—and she didn’t pull away – she nodded at Ahu – that says a lot.

– Professor Evren. Dr. Bahar. Naz, – Ferdi intoned theatrically. – One hallway. One look. Three possible endings. But passion — always one. Maybe they just can’t keep quiet anymore. There’ll be gossip either way, might as well make it worth talking about, – he stretched out his hand. – Place your bets?

– What if Bahar chooses someone else entirely? – Doruk barged into the circle, shoving elbows.

Hearing Doruk’s voice, Cem stepped even farther back.

– Who? – Ahu’s brows shot up, clearly stunned by the idea.

– There’s also Professor Serhat, – offered the girl Cem didn’t know. – And other professors too.

– We can hear you, you know! – Siren had joined them.

She didn’t look amused. She tapped a patient file against her hand, slowly.

– Aren’t you ashamed? – Uraz glared at them. – These are grown people. If you can’t respect their feelings, at least keep quiet. You’re talking about my family. Bahar is my mom!

– Maybe it’s time to stop all the gossip, – Siren swept them with a cold gaze.

– Don’t you have work to do? – Doruk was practically fuming.

– We were just… – Ferdi jumped in, trying to save face – discussing workplace dynamics.

– That’s what break rooms are for — not the corridor, – Siren cut in dryly.

People began to disperse slowly. Siren and Uraz passed by Cem, talking quietly, not noticing him. He raised his head, gripped the strap of his backpack tighter, and headed toward the stairs. A grim smile twisted his lips — burning him from the inside…

***

…inside, everything was still burning. She hadn’t calmed down yet. Evren, Naz, herself — her head was spinning. But Bahar raised her hand, exhaled, and knocked. Only after hearing permission did she slowly open the door.

Serhat was seated at his desk, writing something in a patient chart. The desk lamp barely lit him, casting long shadows instead.

– May I? – she tried to push away her lingering modesty and awkwardness.

After all, their roles had shifted — now she was on the patient’s side, and Serhat was the doctor.

– Professor Özer, – she began.

– Bahar, – he stood up and gestured to a chair. – Please, sit.

– Thank you, – she closed the door behind her and sat. – Thank you for taking on Professor Reha.

He lowered his glasses slightly and gave her a long, measured look.

– After today, it’s the least I can do for you, – his voice was as even and emotionless as always. – The data is clear. The patient is stable, but there are risks. We’re preparing him for bypass surgery.

Bahar straightened in her chair. Now she truly understood Esra — her father could be many things.

– He’s strong. He’ll pull through. It’s a standard procedure, – he continued, as if reciting lines from a thousand surgeries. – Routine, even.

She watched him intently. She had a dozen questions, but instead said something else entirely:

– You’re not at all what you seem, – she sighed.

– There are times when one must act, – he removed his glasses and placed them on the table. – And today, it was you who acted.

– We both wear masks, but you forget to take yours off more often, – she noted, relaxing a little.

– When I said ‘bypass,’ you tensed, – he said, remaining in the shadows, while the light from the lamp illuminated her face completely. – But you already knew I’d be the one performing the procedure, Dr. Bahar.

With one word — “doctor” — he dismantled the doctor-patient barrier, placing her squarely on his level.

– Serhat, – it slipped from her lips, and she caught herself. – Professor Serhat, – Bahar clasped her hands in her lap — he couldn’t see them. – Aortocoronary? Or are you planning a vein graft?

– Who are you more afraid for, Dr. Bahar? Professor Reha? Your mother? – he didn’t take his eyes off her. – Or yourself?

She unclasped her fingers, looked at him without blinking.

– I’m afraid of the condition — of ‘almost’, – she whispered.

Serhat’s shoulders sank slightly, his gaze dropped.

– There will be no uncertainty here, – he understood immediately. – Everything is painfully simple.

– But you know sometimes a routine appendectomy ends in collapse, – a shiver ran down her spine.

– Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t losing someone, – his hand rested on the table, – it’s living in that state of ‘almost’, – he returned her own words to her.

Bahar raised her hand, not placing it on the table, just brushing the edge. She understood him. He had lived in that “almost” for 23 years. She wanted to speak to him — but it wasn’t her role to propose options for his daughter. That was Evren’s place.

Evren… what was between them? What past connected them? Neither of them had said a word, as if nothing had happened in her OR.

The phone in her hand buzzed. She glanced at the screen and stood up at once.

– I’m sorry, Professor Serhat. Thank you for everything, – she offered him her hand.

– No, thank you, – his hand engulfed hers.

He shook her hand firmly, like a man, not letting go immediately. Her palm vanished into his — and for a moment, she felt calm. She turned and left his office, quietly closing the door behind her.

***

…Naz and Evren stood by the glass doors in the hospital lobby. Uraz gripped the railing above and looked down at them. Maybe Ferdi, Ahu, and the others were right? Professor Evren seemed lost. He came to their house, stayed close to his mom — but kept seeing Naz too. He acted like he couldn’t decide — stay with his mother or go back to Naz. His knuckles turned white, and his lips pressed into a tight line.