Yaman was a university student majoring in engineering, one of the top students in his department. He was known for his calm nature, intelligence, and academic excellence. Though admired by his professors, he didn't have many friends. He rarely spoke with his classmates and often remained silent, preferring solitude. In his free time, he volunteered at a charitable organization, always offering a helping hand to the elderly—who held him in high regard and affection.
Yaman lived with his older sister, Lynn, a doctor working at a nearby health center. Their parents had died in an accident when Yaman was only six years old. Since then, Lynn had taken on the responsibility of raising him. Despite being young herself, she worked while studying, with occasional financial help from some relatives.
After his classes, Yaman would go straight to the charity center to assist, then return home to find Lynn preparing dinner after her shift. They would eat together, share conversations, and sometimes stay up late watching TV before heading to bed to prepare for the next day.
Such was Yaman's routine—a quiet, structured life.
One evening, while at the charity center, Yaman lost track of time while chatting with one of the elderly men. By the time he left, it was raining heavily, the wind howling, and darkness blanketing the city. He opened his umbrella and walked toward the bus station to return to his apartment. Nearing the stop, he suddenly collided with a young man—black-haired, broad-shouldered, with deep kohl-lined eyes, drenched by the rain, and visibly exhausted.
The young man apologized.
Yaman replied kindly, "It's okay, don't worry."
Noticing the man had no umbrella, Yaman offered him his own.
The young man said, "No, thank you."
Yaman insisted, "Please take it. I'm already at my stop. I don't want you to get sick."
Reluctantly, the young man accepted the umbrella, thanked Yaman, and walked off into the storm.