Stuck in a past I could not forgive myself for and the future I imagined Ayan and I would have together, I neglected my relationship with our younger sister, Idil. As the middle sister, Ayan had been the buffer in the eight years between Idil and me. After her death, grief became the bridge we met on.
As the amount of time we spent together increased, so did the frequency of our fighting. Reeling from Ayan’s death, anger was an easier emotion to reckon with than sorrow. Usually our arguments were the ordinary grievances that pepper any