After leaving Aiden's apartment that night, Murad felt the cold air cling to his face, as if the world itself was trying to soothe the heaviness lingering in his chest. Every step he took toward his car was measured, as if the ground itself breathed with him. What he had said to Aiden wasn't merely words to calm him; it was a confrontation with a truth he had ignored for weeks: his role was no longer just that of a prince living under the pressures of politics and threats—it was that of a human being, responsible for the hearts of others, and for his own heart.
He returned to the palace shortly after midnight. The gilded corridors seemed quieter than usual, and the guards at the doors regarded him with gestures of respect so meticulous that each movement felt ceremonious. He glanced briefly at his desk, piled high with files and reports, but he couldn't bring himself to open a single one. He simply took off his heavy coat, leaning against the wall for a moment, trying to process the whirlwind of the day: the threats… the investigations… John… and Aiden.
Before heading to his room, he paused before the mirror for a long moment. His reflection looked different; tired eyes carrying the burdens of recent weeks, a forehead taut with thought. A quiet inner whisper told him he needed only one thing tonight: sleep.
At the first light of dawn, Murad awoke to the sound of his royal aide entering the room to wake him gently. He looked around, slightly surprised, then remembered today's schedule: returning to the university after weeks of absence. He put on his dark suit, fastening the buttons of his short coat with care, then left the palace under a lighter security escort than in previous days, yet every movement was closely monitored. As he drove, the escort vehicles led and followed him closely; the entire route was secured, every turn watched, every open street planned.
Arriving at the university gate, he felt as if he was entering an entirely different world. Students moved between buildings, laughter and chatter filling the air… a world unaware of the events behind the palace's gilded doors. His first steps along the long hallway leading to the lecture rooms were slightly heavy, despite the reassurances of the guards. Whispers followed him like shadows:
"The prince has returned…"
"Where has he been all this time?"
"Could all the rumors have been true?"
He paid no mind. His thoughts were entirely on meeting John, wondering what would happen when he learned about what had transpired with Aiden. Yet another part of his mind kept drifting back to Aiden… to that night that ended with silent tears and a heavy embrace.
As he approached the first lecture hall, he paused for a moment, feeling his heart flutter slightly. At the far end of the hallway, John stood, leaning against the wall, as if he had been waiting since dawn. A small smile formed on Murad's lips when their eyes met, yet something pressed on his chest… a mixture of relief and danger at once.
John spoke, his voice trembling slightly: "Where did you disappear to yesterday after classes? I searched everywhere… but I couldn't find you."
Murad tried to keep calm, replying softly, "I was with Aiden. Before the threat incident… he confessed his feelings to me, but I didn't respond. It drove him into a deep depression. Yesterday, I just… tried to console him."
John froze in place, the words hitting him like a sudden shock. His eyes widened slightly, his lips parting unconsciously, his mind racing faster than his body could follow. He seemed as if he wanted to ask the burning question: "And what was your answer to him…?"
Before he could speak, Aiden appeared, his smile faint yet genuine, holding out a small envelope to Murad: "This… is for you."
Murad took the envelope in surprise and opened it, finding a ticket to a music concert.
Aiden said shyly but firmly, "I'll be performing a small concert at the end of this week… and I wanted you to be there. It's… important to me."
John glanced at the ticket, then at Murad, then back at Aiden, and a heavy weight lifted from his chest, though he showed no expression. A brief silence fell among them, carrying the unspoken question: Had Murad truly rejected Aiden's feelings… or was there something left unsaid?
By the end of the week, Murad arrived at the hall a little before the concert started. He sat in the front row, surrounded by discreet security who watched every movement, every smile, every flicker of his eyes. He wasn't just attending among students—he was a prince in his own sphere, enveloped in absolute privacy.
Aiden stepped onto the stage, looking different. No longer the sad student everyone knew, he was an artist reclaiming himself, writing a new beginning through his music. Each note told a story of pain overcome, of passion unextinguished.
Murad sat silently, absorbed in every detail: the way his fingers danced across the keys, the subtle smile that occasionally crossed his face, his eyes sparkling under the lights. A faint pride stirred in Murad's chest—his presence wasn't just a promise kept; it was testimony to someone piecing themselves back together.
After the performance, Murad approached Aiden, shaking his hand with genuine warmth: "Your performance was incredible."
Aiden smiled, a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude on his face: "Thank you for coming… your presence here means a lot to me."
Their words were more than pleasantries—they carried mutual reassurance and pride. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, silent yet meaningful, as if the night, with its music, laughter, and applause, had created a small bubble of freedom and happiness for both.
After the concert, Murad left the hall, tired but at ease. The city was quiet, streetlights glimmering like tiny stars fallen to the ground, reflecting a sense of calm after a long, eventful week. He drove until he stopped in front of the nightclub he had visited before. The place was familiar, yet tonight it seemed different, as if the air carried a sense of anticipation and curiosity he couldn't yet explain.
The moment he arrived, the club's guards immediately gathered. Under the strictest security, Murad was guided out of the car with swift precision. Every eye was on him, every movement calculated, every step under vigilant watch, as if the entire world was turning to acknowledge someone of royal lineage.
Inside the club, dim lights danced across the walls, soft yet pulsating music filled the space, and the mingling scent of drinks and faint smoke gave the room an otherworldly atmosphere. Suddenly, he noticed a familiar shadow at the bar.
John sat quietly, his hands wrapped around a light drink, his eyes wandering, his expression heavy with sorrow. Murad approached cautiously, his heart pounding with concern and curiosity, aware that every step might reveal something hidden. He noticed the fine details: the tiny wrinkles around John's eyes, a gaze caught between anger and sadness, lips slightly trembling.
John lifted his head, offering an unstable smile, a mix of challenge and shyness: "Well, well… how was your lover's concert?"
Murad froze, astonished: "Lover? Who are you talking about?"
John smiled sadly, eyes glimmering with invisible tears: "Aiden… I know you're together. You said you reciprocated his feelings."
Murad paused, realizing the misunderstanding. "John… you've got it wrong… Aiden isn't in a relationship with me. I was only trying to console him after what he went through."
Suddenly, John's face transformed. A broad smile spread across his features, his heart trembling with joy, eyes sparkling like stars, as if all his anxiety had vanished in an instant.
Murad looked at him, surprised: "Why are you so happy about this?"
For a brief moment, John remained silent, then suddenly he rushed toward Murad and kissed him on the lips.
Murad froze, shock tempered by the warmth of the emotions flowing toward him. That kiss carried everything: anticipation, joy, passion, hope, and honesty. Fear and freedom intermingled, as if every misunderstanding and moment of delay had opened a door to feelings neither had dared acknowledge before.
For the first time in weeks, Murad felt that everything was possible, and that this moment marked the true beginning of something alive, passionate, and real.