Distance should change when you walk.
Barış stood on the dry path, thinking that.
Morning in Love Valley was a little whiter than yesterday. The outlines of the stone pillars melted into the light, and the valley in the distance was quiet, as if still asleep. Each time the wind blew, fine grains of sand struck the edges of his shoes with a small sound.
Yesterday, the dog had been there.
And today, it was there again.
Barış did not want to admit it.
There was nothing strange about a dog being in the same valley. Cappadocia had dogs in its villages, on its roads, on its hills, in front of shops. They lived beside people as if they had always belonged there.
But that dog was different.
It stood just outside human life, as if it belonged to no one.
A single road led deeper into the valley.
At the far end of it, the same shadow waited.
Barış began to walk slowly.
One step.
Dry earth sounded beneath him.
Two steps.
Wind touched his cheek.
Three steps.
The dog did not move.
The distance should have been closing.
And yet the dog looked no larger than before.
Barış stopped.
He narrowed his eyes.
Maybe the depth was strange here.
Maybe it was the land itself. The rocks of Love Valley could make near things seem far, and far things seem near. When light and shadow overlapped, distance became uncertain.
That could explain it.
It should have explained it.
Barış walked again.
A little faster this time.
Stones rolled under his feet, their dry sound bouncing through the valley. The morning air was cold, but heat began to gather slowly somewhere inside his back.
The dog still seemed to be in the same place.
No.
At the same distance.
That was what frightened him.
It was not far away.
It could not be reached.
Barış drew in a breath.
“That’s impossible.”
He said it aloud.
But his voice thinned in the valley and came back sounding almost like someone else’s.
Then laughter came from the shadow of the rocks on his right.
Two young women, tourists, were walking and taking pictures. A red scarf moved in the wind.
One of them looked toward the dog.
Barış followed her gaze at once.
Could she see it?
Could they see that dog too?
But the woman only lifted her phone and smiled with the stone pillars behind her.
No reaction to the dog.
Barış’s throat went a little dry.
Could she not see it?
Or did she see it and simply not care?
He could not tell the difference.
He stepped to the edge of the path and waited for them to pass.
For a moment, the smell of perfume entered the wind, then disappeared. When their presence faded, the valley returned to its earlier silence.
Barış looked at the dog again.
There.
Same posture.
Same distance.
A small irritation formed in his chest.
Not fear, exactly.
Irritation at something that refused to be understood.
People want to give names to what they do not understand.
Coincidence.
Tiredness.
Illusion.
The unease of travel.
Give it a name, and the heart settles a little.
But some things do not disappear, even after being named.
His father had been like that.
Disappearance.
Silence.
Choice.
No matter which word he used, the fact of his father’s absence never changed.
And now, no word fit the dog in front of him.
Barış shook his head slightly.
There was no need to think about his father.
Right now, he only had to think about the dog.
The moment he thought that, the old man’s words from yesterday returned.
This valley remembers well what people leave behind.
What people leave behind.
What his father had left.
What he himself had left behind.
The words mixed into the air of the valley and would not disappear.
Barış stopped walking.
This time, he took one step back.
To widen the distance.
One step.
The dog did not change.
Another step.
No change.
Even after three steps back, the outline of the dog remained the same.
Barış’s fingertips went cold.
Whether he moved closer or farther away, the distance did not change.
That could not happen.
And yet, in front of him, it seemed to be happening.
He closed his eyes.
Only for a few seconds.
Wind.
A bird far off.
A small stone falling somewhere.
He opened his eyes.
The dog had turned its face slightly.
It was looking at him.
Clearly.
Barış held his breath.
There was no anger in its eyes.
No threat.
Only waiting.
But for what?
Why him?
Barış tried to take a step forward.
His foot would not move.
Somewhere in his body, something still told him to go back.
If he came closer, something would end.
At the same time, if he did not come closer, nothing would begin.
The wind in the valley grew stronger.
The shadows of the rocks slid slowly over the ground.
Among them, the dog’s shadow alone remained dark.
As if it stood a little outside light.
Outside time.
Then Barış finally understood.
He was not following the dog.
The dog was measuring him.
How far he would come.
Where he would stop.
What he was afraid of.
No words came.
Only, somewhere in his chest, something small gave way.
The unease of the past few days was no longer outside him.
It had begun to enter.
Barış breathed out slowly.
“…What do you know?”
His voice was quiet enough to vanish in the wind.
The dog did not answer.
Of course it didn’t.
Still, its silence was not only silence.
It seemed to return something
by refusing to answer.
Barış stood there, unable to move.
The single road deep inside Love Valley.
A distance that did not change, whether he came closer or stepped back.
At the far end of it, the dog quietly watched him.
Then, for the first time, the dog slowly turned its back.
It was not leaving.
Not running away.
More like testing whether he could follow.
At Barış’s feet,
one small stone rolled.
