🌊 Whispers of the Bosphorus - Episode 3
- Sasteria
- Nov 28, 2025
- 7 min read
Updated: Jan 2
➡️ Malay Translation : Click Here ➡️ Lyric (Beneath the Arches) : Click Here
🌉 Episode 3 – The Bridge of Words
(SasteriaWorld Original — English Version)
Saturday mornings in Aberdeen always felt different to Leila. The city moved slower, as if it needed a breath before waking. Rain had passed earlier, leaving the pavements shining like quiet mirrors. These were the hours she cherished most — moments when she could walk without noise, without rush, without the world pulling at her thoughts.
As she walked through the narrow lanes near her flat, she heard the soft ring of church bells drifting through the cold air. It reminded her of home — the sound of women sweeping courtyards at dawn, the distant call of prayer echoing through alleys, her mother warming tea as sunlight touched the walls.
Different sounds, different lands, yet the longing behind them felt the same.
By midmorning she found herself heading toward the university library, though she had not planned to work that day. Habit, perhaps. Or something gentler — the quiet pull of a routine that made her feel anchored.
To her surprise, Professor Andrew was already there, sleeves rolled up, a half-finished translation open before him. He glanced up, eyes warm despite the tiredness in them.
“I tried working on a few paragraphs alone,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “But the words started fighting me.”
He handed her the page.
“Tell me how badly I’ve offended the Arabic language.”
Leila read in silence. His English flowed beautifully, but here and there something felt… too clean, too polished.
“You’ve made it perfect,” she said softly.
“But Arabic doesn’t breathe in straight lines. It leaves spaces — for God, for feeling, for echoes.”
Andrew leaned forward, genuinely listening.
“So the pauses matter?”
“They are the meaning.”
They spent a long time working side by side. She explained how repetition wasn’t a mistake in Arabic — it was a spiral, returning to the heart with each circle.
He listened with the attentiveness of someone hearing music for the first time, even though he had known words all his life.
When noon approached, he closed his notebook gently.
“Leila… would you let me buy you lunch?”
She hesitated — the invitation felt unexpected, yet there was no pressure in his voice, only sincerity. She nodded.
They walked to a small café tucked between a music shop and a row of second-hand bookstores. Inside, the windows fogged from the warmth, and the scent of fresh soup filled the air. A child traced shapes on the glass with her fingertip.
Andrew ordered vegetable soup for them both. When the bowls arrived, he paused until she whispered a quiet Bismillah.
The gesture made her smile.
“You’re learning,” she said.
“I’m trying,” he replied. “Yesterday you said mercy should feel like soup. I thought I’d start with something simple.”
They ate without rushing. Between them, something softened — not romance, not yet, but a gentle kindness forming its own language.
After a while, Andrew asked,
“When you translate… do you feel like you’re translating yourself too?”
The question surprised her.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Every line changes me a little. English isn’t enough. But neither am I. We meet halfway.”
He thought for a moment, then said,
“Maybe that’s what faith is — believing that what seems divided… can still meet.”
The words touched a place inside her she hadn’t opened in years. A warmth rose quietly, like a candle relit.
Outside, the rain had stopped. They walked back slowly, watching children kick a football across wet grass. Laughter scattered like sunlight on water.
At the library steps she stopped.
“I’ll see you Monday, Professor.”
“Andrew,” he corrected gently.
Then, with a small nod: “Monday, Leila. And thank you… for showing me how to listen between the lines.”
As he walked away, her thoughts drifted to her late husband — his laughter, their last morning, the grief that had once felt immovable.
But today, that grief felt lighter.
Not gone, but carried by wind instead of buried in stone.
That night she wrote in her notebook:
Some bridges are built from quiet moments and small kindnesses.
The language of mercy needs space — and the courage to cross.
She placed the notebook beside her Qur’an. Through her window, Aberdeen glowed under a damp sky.
For the first time, it didn’t feel distant.
It felt — almost — like a translation done right: not perfect, but alive.
➡️ English : Click Here
🇲🇾 EPISOD 3 – Jambatan Kata-Kata
(Terjemahan Penuh Bahasa Melayu — SasteriaWorld Original)
Pagi Sabtu di Aberdeen sentiasa terasa berbeza bagi Leila. Kota itu bergerak perlahan, seolah-olah ia memerlukan satu nafas sebelum benar-benar sedar. Hujan awal pagi telah membasuh jalanan, menjadikannya berkilau seperti cermin yang senyap. Inilah waktu yang Leila paling hargai — saat dia boleh berjalan tanpa gangguan, tanpa tekanan, tanpa dunia menarik fikirannya.
Ketika dia berjalan melalui lorong-lorong sempit berhampiran flatnya, bunyi loceng gereja bergema lembut dalam udara sejuk. Ia mengingatkannya kepada kampung halaman — bunyi wanita menyapu halaman ketika fajar, gema azan dari jauh, ibunya memanaskan teh sementara cahaya matahari menyentuh dinding.
Bunyinya berbeza, tempatnya berbeza, tetapi kerinduannya sama.
Menjelang tengah pagi, tanpa sedar dia menuju ke perpustakaan universiti, walaupun dia tidak merancang untuk bekerja hari itu. Mungkin kebiasaan. Atau sesuatu yang lebih halus — tarikan tenang dari rutinnya yang membuatkan dia berasa stabil.
Dia terkejut apabila mendapati Profesor Andrew sudah berada di sana, lengan baju disingsing, terjemahan separuh siap di hadapannya. Dia mengangkat muka, matanya letih tetapi lembut.
“Saya cuba tulis beberapa perenggan sendiri,” katanya sambil tersenyum malu. “Tapi ayat-ayat itu mula melawan saya.”
Dia menghulurkan satu muka surat.
“Cuba dengar terjemahan ini — beritahu saya bahagian mana yang saya rosakkan.”
Leila membaca dengan teliti. Bahasa Inggeris Andrew lancar, indah — tetapi ada sesuatu yang terlalu… licin, terlalu bersih.
“Profesor jadikan ia terlalu sempurna,” katanya perlahan.
“Bahasa Arab tidak bergerak lurus. Ia bernafas dengan ruang — untuk Tuhan, untuk rasa, untuk gema.”
Andrew menunduk, mendengar sepenuhnya.
“Maknanya… jeda juga penting?”
“Jeda itu adalah makna.”
Mereka bekerja bersama lama. Dia menerangkan bagaimana bahasa Arab bergerak dalam bentuk lingkaran, bukan garisan lurus. Bagaimana pengulangan bukan kesilapan tetapi proses mendekati hati.
Andrew mendengarnya seolah-olah ia muzik yang baru pertama kali didengari.
Menjelang tengah hari, Andrew menutup buku notanya perlahan.
“Leila… boleh saya belanja awak makan?”
Leila teragak-agak. Ajakannya terasa tiba-tiba, tetapi nada suaranya tidak memaksa — hanya keikhlasan. Maka dia mengangguk.
Mereka berjalan ke sebuah kafe kecil yang tersembunyi di antara kedai muzik dan deretan kedai buku terpakai. Di dalam, tingkap berkabus dan aroma sup memenuhi ruang. Seorang kanak-kanak melakar bentuk pada cermin dengan jarinya.
Andrew memesan sup sayur untuk mereka berdua. Bila mangkuk tiba, dia menunggu sehingga Leila membisikkan Bismillah.
Leila tersenyum.
“Awak belajar,” katanya.
“Saya cuba,” Andrew menjawab. “Semalam awak kata, rahmat sepatutnya terasa seperti sup. Jadi saya mula dengan apa yang saya faham.”
Mereka makan perlahan. Di antara mereka, sesuatu melembut — bukan cinta, belum, tetapi kelembutan yang sedang membina bahasanya sendiri.
Selepas beberapa ketika Andrew bertanya,
“Bila awak terjemah… adakah awak rasa awak sedang menterjemahkan diri awak juga?”
Leila terdiam seketika.
“Ya,” akhirnya dia mengaku. “Setiap baris mengubah saya sedikit. Bahasa Inggeris tidak pernah cukup. Tapi saya juga tidak cukup. Kami bertemu di tengah-tengah.”
Andrew termenung seketika.
“Mungkin itulah iman — percaya bahawa apa yang kelihatan terpisah… masih boleh bertemu.”
Kata-katanya menyentuh ruang dalam hati Leila yang sudah lama tertutup. Kehangatan kecil naik perlahan, seperti lilin yang dinyalakan semula.
Di luar, hujan berhenti. Mereka berjalan pulang perlahan, melihat kanak-kanak bermain bola di atas rumput basah, tawa mereka berterbangan seperti cahaya.
Di tangga perpustakaan dia berhenti.
“Jumpa Isnin, Profesor.”
“Andrew,” dia membetulkan dengan lembut.
Kemudian dengan anggukan kecil: “Isnin, Leila. Dan terima kasih… kerana mengajar saya mendengar di antara baris.”
Ketika dia berlalu pergi, ingatan Leila terlayang kepada arwah suaminya — tawanya, pagi terakhir mereka, kesedihan yang pernah menghentikan dunianya.
Tetapi hari ini, kesedihan itu terasa lebih ringan.
Bukan hilang, tetapi dibawa angin — bukan lagi ditanam dalam batu.
Malam itu, dia menulis dalam buku notanya:
Ada jambatan yang dibina melalui saat-saat sunyi dan kebaikan kecil.
Bahasa rahmat memerlukan ruang — dan keberanian untuk melangkah.
Dia meletakkan buku itu di sebelah al-Qurannya. Melalui tingkap, cahaya malam Aberdeen berkilau di langit yang lembap.
Untuk pertama kali, ia tidak terasa jauh.
Ia terasa — hampir — seperti terjemahan yang berjaya: tidak sempurna, tetapi hidup.
✉️ Teaser – Episode 4
💌 Episode 4 – “Letters That Follow the Heart”
A letter arrives from home… carrying news that will shift everything for Leila.
[Sebuah surat tiba — membawa khabar yang mengubah arah hatinya.]
🔔 CTA – Continue the Journey
Read all episodes + songs → SasteriaWorld.com/music
➡️ English Translation : Click Here
🎵 LYRIC SECTION — Beneath the Arches
🕊️ [VERSE 1]
After the rain, the world turns quiet,
Footsteps echo soft and slow.
Under the arches my heart feels lighter,
Walking where the river winds below.
فِي السَّكِينَةِ أَجِدُ نَفْسِي
In stillness I begin to breathe.
✨ [PRE-CHORUS]
Every word, like ripples in water,
Shy but reaching out to me.
In this calm, I find a whisper,
A bridge growing silently.
✨ [CHORUS]
Beneath the arches, I breathe again,
Where broken thoughts learn how to mend.
A gentle step, a gentle friend,
Allah sends light where new paths begin.
يَا نُورَ الرُّوحِ، قُدْنِي فِي الطَّرِيقِ
O Light of the soul, guide me on the path.
بَيْنَ الظِّلَالِ تَعُودُ الْحَيَاةُ
Between the shadows, life returns again.
Not yet love…
But something alive.
🌙 [VERSE 2]
Soft reflections dance in puddles,
Olive scarf in morning grey.
Your silence feels like gentle comfort,
Guiding all my fears away.
وَفِي الْهُدُوءِ يَنْكَشِفُ الْقَلْبُ
In the quiet, the heart reveals itself.
✨ [PRE-CHORUS]
Every question opens softly,
Every answer feels like dawn.
Maybe trust begins like this—
Quiet steps where hearts grow strong.
✨ [CHORUS]
Beneath the arches, I breathe again,
Where broken thoughts learn how to mend.
A gentle step, a gentle friend,
Allah sends light where new paths begin.
فِي النُّورِ نَحْيَا، وَفِي الرَّحْمَةِ نَكْبُرُ
In the light we live, in mercy we grow.
قَلْبِي يَعُودُ بَعْدَ الْمَطَرِ
My heart returns after the rain.
Comments