By the time the sky outside the wide glass windows turned the color of fading ash, Ayla had not moved from the same spot on the sofa.
Evening had arrived quietly, almost apologetically, spilling a muted orange glow into the living room. The city beyond the balcony was alive in its usual rhythm, vehicles moving in steady lines, distant horns blending into a constant hum. But inside the apartment, everything felt suspended in something thicker than silence. It felt like a pause stretched too far.
Maybe today had simply been too much.
Her mind had already been fragile for days. The accident. The hospital. The guilt that had been gnawing at her ribs without rest. Helen's outburst had torn open wounds she had barely managed to bandage inside herself. And then Silas, standing there with that unreadable expression, offering marriage not like a confession but like a solution.
It had all collided at once.
The human heart was not built to process so many extremes in a single day.
