Lina always woke up at the same hour each morning. The ticking of the enormous clock hanging on the bedroom wall seemed to dictate the rhythm of her life. Everything was orderly: the curtains were drawn in the same way, the coffee poured into the same cup, the same porcelain plates placed neatly on the table. Yet inside, storms were raging; Lina felt trapped in this routine, like a bird struggling to breathe inside a cage.
Her husband, Murat, was one of Istanbul's most respected businessmen. Stern-eyed, cold-faced, and unwilling to let go of control… Marrying him had once seemed like a fairy tale: the glamorous wedding, the pride of being a couple everyone envied. But as the years passed, Lina found herself drowning in silence and solitude. Murat's touch had long since lost its warmth; what remained between them felt more like a business partnership than a marriage.
That day, Lina had to attend the opening night of the company's new art division. For Murat, it was merely a business event, a chance to strengthen connections. For Lina, it promised nothing but another evening of dull formalities. As she slipped into her long black dress and looked at her reflection in the mirror, she noticed the weariness in her eyes. The fire inside her had gone dim, waiting—aching—to be reignited.
The company's grand hall shimmered with light. Paintings by young artists hung along the walls, colors flowing freely, brushstrokes releasing emotions long held in chains. Lina's gaze was caught by one particular painting: a clash of crimson and black, radiating raw intensity. Beside her, a voice spoke:
— "You can't seem to look away."
Startled, Lina turned. The voice belonged to a young man in a black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes carried both defiance and invitation, a storm behind a calm surface.
— "It feels… powerful," Lina replied, referring to the painting.
— "That one's mine," the man said with a smile. "My name is Emir."
Lina was taken aback. Such a young artist producing something so passionate intrigued her even more. Emir's voice was like a low melody, and his eyes… they pierced through her, stirring something she thought had long been lost.
A brief conversation followed before Murat approached. He offered Emir nothing more than a curt greeting before drifting back into discussions with other businessmen. And in that moment, Lina realized: in Murat's world, there was no room for her excitement, her glances, or her feelings. Yet Emir, with nothing but a look, had reminded her of something vital—that she was still alive.
As the night went on, Lina found Emir's eyes meeting hers across the crowd again and again. What began as a fleeting glance now rekindled embers that had lain dormant within her. She knew it was forbidden, she knew it was wrong. But her heart had already silenced her reason.
And that night, when she finally lay down to sleep, for the first time in years Murat was not in her thoughts. Emir was.