The courtroom was packed – soldiers, officers, judges, a sea of people watching Baran stand in chains.
Layla sat in the front row, spine straight, eyes locked on him.
Dara stepped forward. "This man once spied on us. But he also helped us end a war. Without his intelligence, we would have lost countless lives."
Layla stood. "If he hadn't been on our side, I wouldn't be alive. And neither would many of you."
Murmurs rippled across the room.
The judge leaned forward. "Baran Demir… how do you plead?"
Baran lifted his chin. "Not guilty. But I accept whatever you decide."
Layla's heart squeezed at the quiet strength in his voice.
The judges whispered, discussed, weighed months of evidence – then finally:
"We find the defendant… not guilty."
Layla exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"And furthermore," the judge continued, "we grant Baran Demir full freedom… and authorise his request to join the Data Analyst Division."
Baran's eyes flew to Layla.
Hers were already on him.
The guards unlocked his chains.
He walked straight to her, stopping just inches away.
"You did it," she whispered.
"We did" he whispered.
She let out a shaky laugh. "So… you're a Data analyst now… like me."
He smiled, soft and real. "I guess that means I get to sit next to you every day."
She bumped his shoulder lightly. "You'd better."
He took her hand – openly this time, without fear – as the court erupted behind them.
One year later
The war was now something people spoke about in past tense.
A shadow, not a storm.
Layla walked into the new command centre-sleek, rebuilt, humming with quiet activity-and her eyes found him instantly.
Baran.
Sitting at his desk, two monitors glowing, sleeves rolled up, hair messy like he'd run his hands through it a dozen times. He looked… calm. Safe. Home.
He looked up the second she entered.
And that smile-soft, private, the one he saved only for her - hit her straight in the chest every time.
"You're late," he teased.
"You love it," she said, dropping a stack of files on his desk.
He stood, wrapping his arms around her waist with casual familiarity-no hesitation, no flinching, no secrets. Just warmth.
"I do love it," he murmured into her hair. "Makes my morning."
Layla leaned into him, feeling the steady heartbeat under his shirt. A year ago, he'd been shaking in a prison cell, certain he'd never earn forgiveness. Now… he was hers. And she was his. No turmoil, no fear-just trust carefully rebuilt, day by day.
FLASHED-FORWARD – FIVE YEARS LATER
The world was calm.
So were they.
Layla pushed open the door of their little stone house on the hillside, kicking off her shoes as the smell of something warm drifted through the air.
"Baran?" She called.
"In the kitchen!"
She walked in to find him wearing an apron he definitely stole from her – pink, frilly, embarrassing – and he was completely unbothered.
"You're cooking," she said, smiling. "Are we celebrating something?"
He turned, brushing flour off his cheek. "Your promotion."
Layla laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Head of Analysis. Five years ago she never would've imagined it. Five years ago she was fighting to survive.
Now she was fighting over who got to wash the dishes.
Life didn't turn perfect. It turned peaceful.
Baran worked as the second-in-command analyst now, always bringing her extra coffee.
Layla still teased him about driving ("you brake like someone owes you money.")
He still stole her pen every day.
("It's evidence," she'd scowl." "Evidence of what?" He'd grin.)
Their love had become a quiet thing – dependable, gentle, a constant in the background of their days.
After dinner, they sat on the coach, Layla's head on his lap, his fingers in her hair.
She hesitated, biting her lips.
"Baran?"
"Hmm?"
She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.
His breath stopped.
Completely.
His eyes shot to hers, glistening, wide, terrified, hopeful all at once.
"Are you-?"
She nodded.
"Three months."
Baran's hand trembled against her skin. Then he laughed – shaky, breathless, overwhelmed – and wrapped his arms around her so carefully it almost hurt.
"You're serious?" He whispered.
"We're… we're having a baby?"
Her smile wobbled. "Yeah."
He kissed her – slowly at first, then with a joy so raw she could feel it trembling through him.
"I never thought I'd get this," he murmured. "Not after everything."
Layla cupped his cheek. "You earned it. We both did."
They didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl.
They didn't know what kind of parents they'd be.
They didn't know if sleepless nights or colic or chaos was waiting for them.
But the knew one thing:
Whatever came next, they'd face it together – the same way they'd faced war, betrayal, prison, and heartbreak.
Side by side.
Always.