The vinyl shop Mira and her band used always felt different after closing. The shop sat a few streets uphill from the marina, tucked between aging storefronts whose shutters rattled whenever strong winds rolled in from the bay.

It had belonged to Demian's grandfather for years, which was why the cramped space between record bins and old speakers had become their unofficial headquarters.

Demian, the band's guitarist, treated the place like a second home. Qishi, the drummer Mira had met during her first year at university. If Mira was being honest, because of her determination to spend more time around Evan. Somewhere along the way, she'd become Mira's friend too. Together, they had spent enough nights here to know every creak in the floorboards. 

By day it belonged to its customers: students flipping through records they couldn’t really afford, seasoned collectors debating first pressings, people who came in chasing music and left carrying stories instead. But at night, it was ours. The CLOSED sign hung in the window, the door was locked, and beyond the glass the city dissolved into reflections and distant streetlights.

Mira sat cross-legged on the floor between two shelves, her violet bass resting beside her. Practice had ended almost an hour ago, but nobody seemed in any hurry to leave. A vinyl spun lazily on the turntable behind the counter, Jeff Buckley’s soft, melancholy voice drifting through the quiet shop. Qi Shi was sprawled on an old couch.

Joseph perched on its armrest even though there was plenty of room on the cushions. He always chose the edges of spaces like this, as if he liked being close to where people entered and left.

Evan sat on the floor, sorting through photographs from his camera, He didn’t like how the town looked after rain; it always felt too unbearable. Fethiye was where he had lost his mother, but also where everything after had happened—Joseph, Mira, Qi Shi, Demian—like the place had refused to let him disappear into grief alone.

home, or at least the closest thing to it. He thought to himself.

“We should do something,” Joseph said, flicking a bottle cap across the room.

“No,” Mira replied.

“Why not?”

“Every time you say that, something stupid happens.”

“That’s not true.”

“Last time you suggested it, we played at a political science faculty party.”

Joseph pointed at her. “And they loved you guys. ”

“They threw a shoe.”

“They only threw one shoe,” Qi Shi laughed. “Technically a success.”

Demian exhaled smoke at the window. “We’re not rehashing the shoe incident.”

Whenever Demian cracked the window wider, the smell of the harbor slipped inside and mixed with the tobacco smoke, turning the shop into something that smelled uniquely of Fethiye. He had played in cities where the audience barely looked up, where music was background noise. Here, even small rooms like this one made sound feel important. Fethiye didn’t feel like a stage built for greatness. his thoughts were caught off by Joseph's suggestion.

“We absolutely are.” Joseph sat up. “Truth or dare.”

Groans. “Are we twelve?” Mira asked.

“No—that’s why it’s interesting.”

“Or exactly why it’s worse.” But Joseph wasn’t listening. He turned to Evan. “Truth or dare.”

Evan didn’t look up. “Truth.”

“Biggest crush in middle school.”

Evan glared. “Seriously?”

Joseph grinned. “Answer or you lose your turn.”

Evan sighed. “There was a girl.”

Mira blinked. “A girl?”

QiShi nearly toppled off the couch. “A real girl?”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

Joseph leaned forward. “You never told anyone?”

“I was fourteen.”

“So?”

“Fourteen-year-olds are goofs.”

Qi Shi snorted. Mira couldn’t help smiling.

They kept going. Joseph admitted he’d failed his driver’s test three times. Qi Shi confessed she’d changed majors twice before settling on music. She still hadn’t learned what “home” meant in this city. Everything in Fethiye felt slightly unfamiliar—the language slipping too fast in conversation, the way people moved like they already knew each other’s histories. But in this room, between these people, she had started to stop translating everything in her head. 

Demian mentioned he had nearly been expelled in his second year of university. Nobody was surprised. Then Joseph pointed at Mira. “Truth.”

Mira sighed. “Fine.”

“When did you first realize you wanted to quit piano?”

The room grew quiet. She stared at the spinning record. “I…I’m not sure.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true.”

She hesitated. “Someone made me realize I needed to play for myself.”

No one spoke. The record crackled. Demian nodded once, as if he understood.

Hours passed. Qi Shi ordered a cheap takeout. Joseph ranked everyone’ s worst life decisions—Qi Shi nearly choked laughing. For a while everything felt easy. Then Joseph turned back to Qi Shi. “Truth.”

Her smile went crooked. “Dangerous.”

“That’s why I chose it.” He smiled wider. “So—who’s the most attractive person in this room?”

They all waited for a joke: maybe Joseph, maybe a celebrity, maybe Mira. Instead Qi Shi looked at Evan. Joseph’s grin faltered. Mira’s throat tightened. “Oh,” she breathed before she could stop herself.

Qi Shi laughed nervously. “This got awkward fast.”

No one moved. Evan met her gaze. For a second Mira thought he might smile or look surprised. Instead he rubbed the back of his neck. “Qi Shi…”

His words snapped the mood. “You don’t have to say anything,” she hurried on.

“I think I do.” He sounded wincingly gentle. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

Mira closed her eyes. Oh no. “No,” Qi Shi whispered. “It’s okay.”

“I care about you—”

“But not like that.”

“I don’t want to lead you on—”

Everyone but Evan heard Joseph’s warning. “I’ve never thought about you that way,” Evan said softly.

The silence that followed was brutal. Qi Shi forced a fragile smile. “Got it. I’m getting some air.” She stood and left.

Seconds later Evan followed. Joseph exploded off the couch and caught Evan by the collar. He stopped just short of hitting him. “What is wrong with you?”

Evan turned. “What?”

“You couldn’t have been gentler?”

“I was honest.”

“You were doing surgery with a chainsaw.”

“I wasn’ t trying to hurt her.”

“Well, congratulations.” Joseph stepped back. Mira watched as they disappeared into the night. The door slammed; silence returned.

A few minutes later Joseph barged back in. Mira could hear voices muffled through the glass. “…could’ve said it better!” Evan’s reply was too quiet to catch. Joseph’s voice rose again. “She’s one of our good friends!” Demian didn’t even glance up; the record kept spinning—Purple Rain by Prince.

Outside Evan finally snapped, “Because I don’t have room for this right now!” The words cut through the night. Everyone froze. Even Demian looked toward the window. “I’ve spent years looking for her, Joseph—my entire life.” Mira frowned. Her. Joseph went still; the anger drained from him. Evan ran a hand through his hair.

“The book’s real. If the stories connect, then she is definitely somewhere.” Joseph said nothing—he knew it was true. For as long as anyone could remember, every road led Evan back to one question: Where is my mother? Everything else came second—maybe relationships too.

Evan looked away down the dark street. “I can’t be what Qi Shi wants, not now… pretending otherwise would’ve been worse.” Joseph looked ready to argue but sighed instead. “You’re still an idiot.”

Evan laughed. “Probably.”

Silence settled inside the shop again. Demian lit another cigarette. After a while Mira spoke. “Relationships are like cigarette smoke.”

He glanced at her. “Concerning.”

She managed a small smile. “They look permanent while they burn—then they’re gone.” Smoke curled from his fingers. “Everything is.” He watched the ash drop.

Mira frowned. “I hate it when you sound wise by accident.” He laughed.

She added “Though Evan and Joseph’s bond is stronger than smoke, they’ve known each other forever, I envy them sometimes.”

Mira rose and opened the door. The street was empty. She pulled out her phone and typed, “You okay?” but no typing bubble appeared. Demian watched her. “She’ll answer later.”

“Maybe.”

“She will.” He shrugged. “Qi Shi knows how to separate things.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tomorrow she’ll still show up for rehearsal.”

Mira stared. “That’s your concern?”

“No.” He took another drag. “But it’s part of it. The best performances usually come after heartbreak.”

Mira’s irritation flared. “That’ s selfish.”

His eyes met hers, and for once he didn’t argue. Maybe he knew she was right—or maybe he simply didn’t care. The record reached its final track. The city felt impossibly far away.

Demian stepped close, close enough for her to smell tobacco and winter air on his jacket. Close enough that she forgot what she was about to say. “Mira.”

“Hm?”

“You think too much.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her—warm and infuriatingly casual. Then he stepped back, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door. Mira watched him go. “That’s it?”

He smiled. “Goodnight. Don’t forget to lock up—the spare key’s on the table.”