The soft glow of morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm ambience over the room where Serkan was getting dressed. Standing before the full-length mirror, his reflection revealed the story of a man sculpted by discipline and hardship. His torso, a canvas marked with scars from distant battlefields, bore the evidence of survival. Each scar was a testament, a reminder of pain borne and battles won. His well-defined and taut muscles and a slight covering of chest hair added a raw, masculine edge to his appearance.
He slipped into a crisp white shirt, the cool fabric clinging to his solid frame. Intentionally, he left the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of his muscular chest, enhancing the rugged appeal that his physical presence naturally commanded. As he reached for his sleek black jacket, he paused, the structured garment hanging momentarily in his hands before he draped it over his shoulders, his movements smooth and practised.
His eyes then caught sight of the silver band on the dresser. With a hesitant hand, he picked it up, the engraving inside catching the light: My magical Pixie, Eda Bolat. Serkan's lips twisted into a wry smile, and he shook his head slightly as he slid the ring onto his finger. "Promises made in better times," he muttered to himself, the weight of the ring feeling disproportionately heavy.
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and brushed over his beard, meticulously placing each strand. Even with the turmoil churning inside him, his reflection did not betray the chaos—instead, it showed a man whose sharp jawline and piercing eyes spoke of a deep, almost brooding charisma.
Hours later, after a flight back to Turkey, Serkan stood on the vast expanse of newly acquired land. The empty field sprawled under the expansive sky, silent and waiting. As he gazed across it, lost in thought, Yakup approached.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Serkan?" Yakup asked.
Serkan turned slowly, his gaze lifting to meet Yakup's. "Yes, I have to, Yakup. I can't undo the past or bring her back, but maybe... just maybe, I can create something here that means something. Maybe this will help me find some peace."
Yakup nodded, placing a comforting hand on Serkan's shoulder. "The Children's Cancer Hospital, it's a noble cause, Serkan. Think of the joy and hope it will bring."
A small, sad smile appeared on Serkan's lips as he looked over the land, imagining children laughing and playing, healed and happy. "I know. This is something I want to leave behind when I'm gone."
He continued, "And your sister... I wish she'd given herself a chance, too."
Yakup's smile faded, replaced by a pensive frown. "She has a name, Serkan. It's Eda. She's your soon-to-be wife. If you haven't forgotten."
Yakup squeezed Serkan's shoulder gently. "Remember, just because someone doesn't live up to every one of your principles, it doesn't make them a bad person. Eda did what she thought she had to do with her knowledge at the time. Life... it teaches us in harsh ways sometimes."
"And what if I lose parts of myself by standing by?" Serkan asked, the question more to himself than to Yakup. "What if supporting her costs me my sense of justice?"
"That's the hardest part of love, isn't it?" Yakup said, stepping closer. "Sometimes it demands compromises we never thought we'd make. But remember, Serkan, that forgiveness isn't just a gift to the forgiven but a release for the forgiver. Maybe you find peace for yourself by understanding her more fully."
