7 - An Old Ladys Gift

Manolya´s POV

I sat in the old woman’s living room, the scent of fresh detergent mixing with the smell of black tea. The light brown baroque leather sofa and blue oriental rugs gave the room a timeless, worn elegance.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy, the remnants from the storm hung damp in the air. The trimmed courtyard visible through the neat windows.

Uncle Eren walked ahead with his relaxed swagger, like he already knew the deal was done.

I followed close, adjusting the strap on my shoulder bag, my thoughts drifting to Ipek. Where was she? Why hadn’t anyone found her?

The elderly woman greeted us at the door, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, a knowing glint in her gaze like she expected more than a transaction. “Selamün Aleyküm, Mrs. Nuriye” I said softly, nodding respectfully.

“Aleyküm Selam, kızım,” she replied, her voice light, almost amused, as her eyes flicked from me to Uncle Eren. “Come in, make yourselves comfortable.”

We stepped inside, and she moved to a corner where a small teapot heater stood. She lit the candle beneath it, setting a low tea table in front of the sofa. “Tea’s coming,” she said, her patterned dress swishing at her ankles, slippers peeking out beneath the hem.

I sat beside Uncle Eren on the nut-brown sofa, its leather cool against my legs. He gave the room an appreciative glance.

Pelin jotted down a map of Ipek’s likely locations and bumped my shoulder as she sat beside me on the couch. “Hey, where else do you think she could have gone?”

“We can check the nearby supermarket around the corner, like BIM or A101,” I whispered back softly, trying not to be rude.

“Sure, let’s do that too!” Pelin said, scribbling down a few more notes.

“Hey,” Adem whispered, leaning closer. “Count us in—we’re checking the bus station as well.”

“You bet we are!” Adlee chimed in.

“Your home’s beautiful,” Uncle Eren said warmly. “Feels like it’s got stories to tell.”

“It does,” the woman said, her lips twitching into a smile. “And so does what I’m showing you today.” She moved to a tall cabinet, opening its wooden doors with deliberate care, and pulled out an ornate, antique box, heavy and clearly valuable.

Uncle Eren leaned forward, intrigued. “That’s really something special,” he said with his eyes gleaming. “What’s the story?”

Before she could answer, she gestured to the small parcel we’d brought. “How about a trade?” she teased, voice playful but sharp. “Your little box for this one. No charge.”

Uncle Eren raised a brow, chuckling. “Tempting, but I like fair deals. I’d rather pay what it’s worth.”

Her eyes crinkled. “Good answer, Eren.” She set the box on the table with a soft thud. “Let me tell you about it.”

I leaned in, curiosity prickling my skin, Ipek’s absence nagging at the back of my mind. “What’s inside?” I asked, unable to hold back.

“This belonged to my late husband,” she began, her voice softening. “But its story goes back generations. One of our ancestors, Behren, was a Janissary officer. Fought under the blood moon during the fall of Constantinople. He rescued a young woman, Cemile, from bandits. They fell in love.”

“Janissaries couldn’t marry, could they?” I asked curiously.

She nodded, her fingers resting lightly on the box’s edge. “Yes, it was forbidden. Cemile had to disappear with her family. Their child was never acknowledged, but Behren visited her in secret. A secret romance was what they had”

Uncle Eren tilted his head. “Behren, huh? That’s a name with weight. What’s in the box?”

She lifted the lid gently, revealing a Janissarian scimitar nestled in dark velvet. Gold inlay curled along the blade, spelling out beautiful arabic letters in Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.

A crimson rubie was inlaid in the hilt, glinting in the dim light. My breath got caught.

“Exquisite,” Uncle Eren murmured, his voice hushed with awe.

Then the woman gave us a strange, expectant look, as if she were holding something back.

I tilted my head, studying her. “Was there something you wanted to say, Mrs. Nuriye?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said casually, rising from the couch. “I actually found an extra item in the attic that I’d like to get rid of. It’s just a regular scimitar sword. Please, take both.”

She vanished into the hallway and returned with a second blade, simpler but no less beautiful, its steel gleaming softly.

Uncle Eren’s eyes lit up. “You’re spoiling me,” he said, handing her twice the agreed amount without hesitation.

“You’re too kind,” she said, surprised. “Not many would do that.”

“History deserves respect,” he replied, his tone firm but warm.

The woman paused as Uncle Eren lifted the first scimitar, her gaze darkening slightly. “My husband used to say these blades were cursed,” she said, almost to herself. “Said the blood they spilled never left them. Passed down from one war to the next, each time claiming something from their owners.”