The woman smiled, a map of wrinkles crinkling around her eyes. "You don't follow either. You are the Bosphorus, son. You are the place where they meet. Just stay steady, and let the world move through you."

Selim looked back at the water. He felt like those currents—his past pulling him toward the safety of the shore, his future dragging him toward the unknown depths of the sea.

He was thirty-four, and for the first time in his life, he was untethered. He had quit his corporate job in Levent that morning. No more spreadsheets, no more fluorescent lights, no more soul-crushing commutes. He had a backpack, a modest savings account, and a sudden, terrifying amount of silence.

She stood up, adjusted her shawl, and walked away into the winding streets of the old neighborhood.

Across the water, the silhouette of the stood like a lonely sentinel. To his left, the Bosphorus Bridge began to glow with violet lights, a string of pearls draped over the neck of the city.

"Which one do I follow?" he asked, surprised by his own honesty.