Living at her aunt's house felt like she was living a fairy-tale life for Aylin Scott. She had her own room with a full-length mirror wardrobe, a charming bedside lamp, and her cousin Salem chauffeured her to and from school. Her aunt always whipped up a variety of dinners. Everything seemed perfect, with no material want and a seemingly fulfilling life, yet Aylin couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease. The comfort and stability felt too good to be true, leaving her feeling more like a temporary guest than a family member.

Aylin often chastised herself for feeling insecure, but she couldn't help it. She couldn’t fully enjoy this comfortable lifestyle guilt-free, nor could she stop feeling thankful to her aunt and uncle. But this overwhelming gratitude only made her feel more alienated within the household.

She was overly sensitive. Every day after school, when she said, "I’m going home!" it felt awkward because while others proudly proclaimed, "My mom and dad are waiting for me," she was acutely aware that the three other members of the household could ask her to leave at any time. Aylin often pondered seemingly absurd questions: Do I truly have a home? Do I have a family? Am I loved by my family? Can one be truly happy without belonging?

She desperately wanted to rid herself of this unwarranted loneliness, to temporarily forget who she was, ignoring her longing for familial affection. But people can be selfish; the more they lack, the more they crave.

"Hey, what are you daydreaming about?" Milena Gibson tapped on Aylin's desk to snap her out of her thoughts.

Aylin looked up and smiled, "Oh...not much."

"Class is over!"

"Oh, really?" Aylin said, appearing absent-minded.

"Not going home yet? Hey, why don't you come to my place? My folks are out, just me and Aunt Lynn—it's going to be great!" Milena’s words painted a familiar scene for Aylin from their previous chats.

Aylin shook her head, "Nah, I think not today."

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun at my place!" Milena insisted, playfully tugging at Aylin's arm.

"Well...alright!" Aylin got up, lazily gathering her books.

Being used to solitude, Aylin found it hard to resist such persistent invitations. Truth be told, she liked Milena as a friend, despite their stark differences. Milena was joyful and self-assured, while Aylin was gloomy and insecure. Yet now, Milena had opened the door to friendship for her, and Aylin had no reason to turn down the invitation. Even if she couldn’t bask in Milena’s happiness, she hoped that Milena’s laughter could at least lift her spirits.

"Do your parents ever argue?" Aylin asked suddenly as they walked.

"All the time," Milena’s casual response surprised Aylin.

"Really? You don’t seem bothered by it..."

"Eh, what's there to be bothered about? They’re just being silly! Petty fights every day, bigger ones every few days, then they're back to being lovey-dovey!"

Aylin came to realize—what they called "arguing" was entirely different from her concept. She realized she lacked not just harmony and stability but even those playful, dissonant notes that were part of a happy family, something she knew nothing about.

The wind by the river was cool and soothing, and the view of the sunrise over the London Eye was breathtaking, like the ripples in Aylin’s heart. The cutting words Anya had hurled at her the night before faded to insignificance. Why should they matter? Girls liked to tease; why laugh when teasing others but not take it when it’s your turn? She reminded herself not to be petty.

Aylin stretched in the breeze, then turned to observe the old Bank of England building behind her. She loved these ancient European architectures far more than the modern skyscrapers across the river; their timeless charm was irresistible. Just like Professor Hughes' preference for classic literature—the more rooted something is, the more captivating it becomes. Aylin smiled to herself.

But in that brief moment, she saw a silhouette in the morning light—a dreamlike silhouette. With the backlighting, she couldn’t discern his features or age, only that his figure was tall and slender. He held a palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other, facing her direction.

Was he smiling at her? Why? Aylin frowned, sure that there were no familiar faces around here—she didn’t know any artists. She quickly turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Hey, you!"

Was he calling her? Aylin hesitated, unsure whether to turn around.

"I'm a student at King's College too," said the silhouette, adding another clue.

Aylin turned to look at him again; now under the shadow of a skyscraper, she could see him clearly—a tall, handsome young man smiling warmly at her. "Come over, see if it looks like you."

Aylin hesitated, pointing at herself, "Are you talking to me?"

The young man smiled again, "Yeah, is there anyone else here?"

Aylin glanced at the embankment. Besides the lone river, indeed, there was no one else. She walked towards him, hardly daring to believe her eyes. On the canvas, she was rendered so lifelike, the morning sun over the Thames coloring her in rosy hues, the wind naturally tousling her hair.

Aylin was momentarily speechless, her face flushed red. Was it surprise or embarrassment?

He quietly observed her; he was undeniably handsome, yet his attractiveness couldn't hide the slight melancholy in his gaze. "Do you like it? You can have it if you do!"

Aylin shook her head vigorously, "No, thank you!" How could she accept something from a stranger, especially such a personal gift?

He seemed to understand her hesitation, smiling brightly, "No worries, painting it brought me a lot of joy. Besides, if you hadn't shown up here so punctually every day, this painting wouldn't exist!"

So Aylin didn’t refuse further, and as she accepted the painting, she noticed his signature, "Eren Murray?"

Eren nodded while packing his art supplies, "Got class in the morning? You should head back if you do!"

Aylin, surprised, blinked at him. He spoke as though he knew her well.

Eren scratched his head sheepishly, "Haha, I know you're a freshman in the English Department. I'm in the Art School. I happened to see you coming out of the Humanities Building yesterday... Oh, I forgot to introduce myself—I’m Eren Murray, a freshman in the Art School."

Aylin smiled shyly.

They chatted effortlessly on the bus ride, despite knowing little about each other. It was odd, but the boy was engaging, speaking with charm and eloquence. As they approached the university, Aylin felt a bit of reluctance. Would she see him again tomorrow?

When her dorm mates saw the painting in Aylin's hands, they swarmed around her.

"Wow! It looks just like you!"

"Eren Murray?! Aylin, spill it, have you been meeting this guy every morning?"

"Well, isn’t it obvious? How else could he paint you so well? Hey, Aylin, did you model for him nude or something?"

At that, Aylin blushed furiously, "Oh, stop it, Mia! We just met!"

"Oh really, just met and you already got a heartfelt gift! The guy seems pretty keen on you," Donna teased from the side.

Just then, the dorm door slammed shut—it was Anya, making a hasty exit.

"What's her issue?" Aylin asked, bewildered.

"Who knows, she's a mystery!" Mia replied dismissively.

The girls had started noticing Anya's peculiar behavior. Her competitive nature wasn’t the problem—sometimes she was overly enthusiastic, other times she was cold and distant, making her unpredictable.

Anya walked to the dorm hallway, crouching in a secluded corner to cry. She liked Eren, from the first day she laid eyes on him, but she never got the chance to talk to him with her parents around. During orientation, she would sneak glances at him, learning that he was Eren Murray from the Art School.

Naturally shy, especially being a top student, Anya never dared to make the first move. She would silently watch, always near him, saying nothing, doing nothing, hoping he would notice her and make the first move.

Her dream shattered; Aylin had beat her to it! She felt a mix of shock and disappointment, experiencing both envy and bitterness.

That was Aylin Scott—prettier, more accomplished. Even if Anya was bold enough to greet Eren first, it couldn’t overshadow Aylin's brilliance. Even old Professor Hughes was charmed by her!

After crying her heart out, Anya returned to the dorm with red eyes, the other girls still bombarding Aylin with questions. In the calm of university life, any ripple was magnified. Seeing Anya's red eyes, they all fell silent.

"What happened?" Aylin asked with concern, unable to connect her new acquaintance with Anya's state.

Anya nonchalantly shook her head, "Nothing, really. I got some dust in my eye out in the hallway, rubbed it a bit too hard."

Everyone could tell Anya was lying, but no one was inclined to call her out. Only Aylin watched her closely, "Are you okay?"

"It's fine! I'm alright!" Anya forced a smile. "Oh, by the way, Aylin, I heard you got yourself a boyfriend—congrats!" Her smile was clearly forced.

Aylin shook her head quickly, "No, really, it was just a chance meeting during morning practice; we barely spoke. You know, artists—they just paint whoever they see, it's nothing personal!"

Oh, they hadn’t started anything; maybe there was still hope! Anya’s expression immediately softened, hiding her relief by steering the conversation, "Oh, and when I passed by the bulletin board yesterday, I saw a call for essays—Aylin, your writing is fantastic, you should give it a try!"

"Really? If I have time, I’ll give it a shot." Aylin gathered her books for class, happy Anya had been so thoughtful. She naturally looped her arm with Anya's, "Let's go to Professor Chen's class. If we're late, it'll be brutal! You guys, hurry up too!"

On the way to class, they were quiet, each holding their own secrets.

The essay contest quickly shifted Aylin's focus away from thoughts of Eren. After all, she and the boy had nothing substantial between them, merely friendly banter. But it reminded her of Francis, who had once sparked special feelings over a similar writing piece. However, thinking of Francis now didn’t hurt like it used to.

When the past has turned to dust, what remains are the memories. And what of a new romance, a new hope? Would there be stories with the handsome artist boy? Without emotional surges, would life on campus become dull?

Aylin was startled by her own thoughts. Was she longing for love? She shouldn’t; how could she forget her past heartbreaks so quickly? She reminded herself.

For now, she’d set thoughts of romance aside and cherish the friendships around her instead. Would she find friendship here as she had with Milena? She yearned for a friend like Milena, someone so genuine, passionate, and open-hearted. Often, she compared her hometown friend Anya with Milena, wondering if Anya could become her next close confidante. Anya was passionate, loved to laugh, and often walked arm-in-arm with her on campus. But the key similarity was that Anya, too, could hold back tears and even laughter. Though she couldn’t understand why Anya was so off today, she recognized that same familiar bitterness.

Anya, like Aylin, was a proud girl. Indeed, pride—they both had it. But Aylin's pride was inherent, while Anya's was pressure from the outside world. With both being prideful, maybe they could become best friends!

Anya was diligent but not particularly bright. A simple poem would take her no less than thirty recitations to remember. Anya was relentless but deeply insecure, calling Professor Hughes a creep, yet she’d scour multiple bookstores just to find material to impress him in class.

Even though Anya was inconsistent, not as lively, nor as genuine as Milena, Aylin still considered her a friend. Both from the same town and both lacking vivid colors in their lives.

Life continues as the departed become a memory.

Though these truths are universal, accepting them can be difficult when they hit close to home. Such was the case with Raiden Gardner these days. He said little and ate even less. Every time he saw his mother's photograph, tears welled up. It wasn't that he couldn’t understand life and death; rather, he reflected on how hard his mother, Kayleigh Gardner, had lived. Her life was full of hardships, and even in passing, she faced struggles. Was this life’s burden or a debt from a previous existence?

Hanna was straightforward; one day she remarked to Salem, "Your mom used to nag because of menopause, now she's all mystical." Salem was upset, saying no daughter-in-law should mock her mother-in-law. Yet, he acknowledged his mother's grief had been excessive.

Salem discussed with Aylin and Dustin, considering a trip to lift his mother’s spirits.

Naturally, Aylin and Dustin agreed wholeheartedly.

When Kayleigh heard that her son and daughter-in-law were trying to send her away to London, she stomped her foot in anger, berating Salem, "What are you thinking, Salem? Your grandmother just passed, and you’re trying to ship me off to England. Do you find me annoying already? I’m not old and gray yet!"

Aylin Scott was ushered into an impressive villa by Milena Gibson. Although Aylin knew that Milena's family was affluent, she hadn't anticipated such an extraordinary level of wealth. In Aylin's mind, she felt like a fish out of water, wide-eyed and amazed at every sight. Mrs. Claire, the housekeeper, appeared to be in her forties, with a warm smile and an approachable demeanor. Seeing Milena bring a friend home, she promptly set out some fruit before heading out to run errands.

"What do your parents do? How are they so wealthy?" Aylin asked as she settled onto the plush sofa, which was so soft it almost threw her off balance.

Milena chuckled at Aylin's surprise, "My dad? He might not have the degrees your dad has, but he's got a knack for business. Years ago, he ventured into the hotel industry right here in town, and now, the Marriott Hotel? My dad was the founder!" Milena's pride was palpable as she spoke of her father, and Aylin couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.

"Wow, the Marriott is your family's? That explains a lot!" Aylin exclaimed. Such a well-known hotel was familiar even to someone from a small town like her. "And your mom?"

"My mom? Well, she never really pursued an education. After high school, her focus was on keeping me in line, working out, and getting beauty treatments. She's probably less concerned with work than I am!"

Aylin chuckled softly. She suspected Milena was being modest on purpose. Her mother must be a cultured woman, Aylin inferred, noting a magnificent piano in the living room. Such a piece seemed more aligned with her mother's tastes than Milena's laid-back style. "That's a beautiful piano, is it your mom's?" Aylin asked, her appreciation for the instrument apparent.

"What! No, that was a gift from my dad's German friend, for me! My dad hired a bunch of piano teachers for me, but I scared them all off. Not that I didn't like them, I just didn't care for music. All those note symbols looked like hieroglyphics to me. It's more like a piece of furniture here!"

"I see. Actually, music is like a universal language, full of emotion. How about I play something for you?" Aylin looked at Milena eagerly.

"You can play the piano? Absolutely, I'd love to hear if you're better than my teachers!"

Without another word, Aylin sat down, her fingers gliding over the keys as if in contemplation, playing single, random notes. Then a melody started forming in her mind, and she followed it instinctively, note by note, slipping into an ethereal state. Her other hand joined in, and a stream of shimmering, harmonious notes flowed effortlessly from her fingers. She played seamlessly, the music whispering like the wind, rustling like leaves, flowing like a stream, and singing softly like falling rain. The emotions in the music were poignant and haunting, tugging at the heartstrings, immersing her in a quiet place like a pebble sinking slowly into the sea.

The tune was deeply melancholic, and Milena felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

"What's wrong?" Aylin noticed Milena's teary eyes and stopped playing.

"I don't know why, but your music makes me feel so emotional!"

Aylin smiled warmly, teasing, "Sorry, it's my favorite piece. My aunt taught it to me in just three lessons. It's a bit on the sad side, huh?"

Milena observed the girl, who always seemed lost in thought; she'd long suspected Aylin had a story. To describe a teenager as 'having a story' might sound odd, yet one look revealed Aylin's solitary demeanor, setting her apart.

"Aylin, do you consider me a friend?"

"Of course," Aylin replied.

"Then tell me about yourself. You hardly ever talk about your family."

Aylin had anticipated this. Being friends meant opening up, but it required courage and emotional readiness. She wondered how others might perceive her once she laid bare her hidden self. She sat quietly, her fingers lightly grazing the piano keys, head bowed.

"What's bothering you, Aylin? Is there nothing to say about your family?"

Aylin offered a faint smile, "It's just that my life is very different from yours."

Milena paused, noting Aylin's distant expression. "Aylin, we've known each other for quite a while now. I always felt like you were carrying some sort of secret, always lost in thought. Sometimes, I think you were born with this odd sense of loneliness, but it doesn't seem possible for someone to be born sad. Is something troubling you? Remember, we're best friends!"

The simple words "best friends" touched Aylin deeply. She tried to respond casually, "Milena, I don't have a home."

"No home?!" Milena was taken aback by Aylin's sudden revelation.

Aylin laughed bitterly, "Almost. My parents are divorced. I had wonderful memories, but they're distant now, out of reach. They loved each other—yes, I think they did—but my dad got too into gambling, playing bigger and bigger games until my mom left and abandoned us."

"That's tough..." Milena mused, unsure how to comfort her friend, whose sorrow seemed so distant from her own. "Is your dad okay now?"

"I... can't really say. He's been away for years. I hardly ever see him. I mostly live with my grandma, but she... she doesn't like me much, probably because she resents my mom. She sees me as just like her, bound to leave one day, so sometimes, she treats me poorly."

"Treats you badly?!" The word struck Milena with horror. She couldn't fathom what Aylin's grandmother had done to her friend, sending chills down her spine. "You must really hate her, right?"

Aylin smiled gently, "I used to hate her, especially when other kids were eating popsicles under ceiling fans, and she made me gather wheat in the blazing sun. I used to wish she'd just disappear. But as I grew older, I found I couldn't hate her anymore."

"Why not?"

"You're living the life of a princess," Aylin smiled wistfully, "you wouldn't understand. My grandpa died young, leaving my grandma widowed in her late twenties, raising my dad and aunt single-handedly. You can't imagine what it was like for a woman with two kids trying to make ends meet in the countryside. She begged, collected trash, faced unimaginable hardships, yet she managed to send my aunt to college. How could I hate such a woman?" Aylin's voice was unusually hoarse, and she sobbed quietly before continuing, "After some reflection, I realized my grandma's harshness stems from her resentment toward my mom's abandonment of her family. She never went to school and became a widow in her twenties, never contemplating remarriage. To her, divorce feels like sheer rebellion. Her life was fraught with misfortune, yet she lived with a clear conscience. Isn't that tragic?"

Milena looked at her friend, almost with admiration. How could a sixteen-year-old speak so calmly about such complex emotions?

"Your mother..."

Aylin quickly shook her head, "I don't know. After the divorce, I never saw her again. So, I prefer not to talk about her."

Milena fell silent, understanding that Aylin's mother was a forbidden topic, one that remained so because of its importance to her.

Motherly Love

Motherly love is like spring rain—it can saturate our hearts with a single careless downpour after a long drought. It's an unwavering breeze, always warming our chilly emotions. No matter where we go, we can never leave the expansive embrace of our mother's love.

Motherly love is selfless, sacred, and grand. It is meticulous and profound...

The next morning, Aylin felt someone gently pulling a piece of paper from beneath her arm as she woke with a jolt, surprised to see Isabella flipping through her manuscript.

"Wow, the genius is hard at work! Staying up late to write an essay? If you don’t win an award, I don’t know who will!" Isabella's dramatic expression was as exaggerated as a wife catching her husband in a lie. Since childhood, Isabella had always been the star of the class, and now in university, she found herself playing second fiddle to Aylin. It made her uncomfortable. Aylin's superior performance was one thing, but Isabella resented her lack of effort compared to her results. Admitting someone was better was hard enough, but admitting they were smarter was even harder.

Aylin blinked at Isabella, still processing what had happened and feeling the dull ache in her arm from being pinned down.

Isabella skimmed Aylin's manuscript, her envy barely concealed. Yet she couldn’t believe Aylin had written such sincere, moving words on her own. She must have copied them from somewhere! She knew this suspicion was unfair, but she clung to it because she couldn’t bear losing.

"Aylin, it's beautifully written. I didn’t even notice when you got up," said Zoey, Aylin’s bunkmate, peering over Isabella's shoulder at the manuscript. Zoey, a mysterious figure who rarely spoke or attended classes, was nocturnal by nature. She praised Aylin’s writing unusually.

"Just scribbling," Aylin smiled faintly.

Isabella placed Aylin's manuscript on the desk and handed her a copy of "Goodbye, Vivienne." "Here, Professor Hanks asked you to read it if you had time. I picked it up for you."

Aylin was touched, giving Isabella a grateful look. Then Isabella leaned in and whispered, "Inside, there's a piece I wrote. Could you take a look?"

Aylin understood Isabella didn’t want her to mention it aloud. Isabella's hypocrisy was irritating, but on the flip side, Aylin realized they were similar—both projecting strength while being fragile, pretending indifference while caring deeply. Understanding this, Aylin resolved to support her.

That day during her elective class, Aylin painstakingly revised Isabella’s piece. The so-called "prose poem" was not only structurally scattered but lacked substance. It seemed like a collection of ornate phrases. Aylin meticulously reconstructed it, rearranging the structure, a task so arduous it would have been easier to rewrite it entirely.

Aylin decided to call Kayleigh Myers. For the first time, she took the initiative to contact her mother—not out of disinterest, but out of fear of disturbing her. It was also prompted by the previous night's dream. They say mothers and daughters share a deep bond; maybe something was truly wrong on her mother’s end.

As she listened to the ringing, Aylin felt nervous, her palms damp with sweat.

"Hello," came her mother's slightly groggy voice on the line.

"Mom, it's Aylin..." She hesitated, unsure of how to continue. A simple hello felt hollow, expressing that she missed her seemed too sentimental.

"Aylin, is something wrong?" Now it was Kayleigh’s turn to sound anxious. This long-lost daughter had never taken the initiative to contact her. Although she claimed to have forgiven her, Kayleigh knew the grudge lingered in her daughter's heart, a reminder of her irresponsibility as a mother. Her sudden call must mean trouble.

"No, Mom, I'm fine. How are you?" Aylin didn’t want to mention last night’s dream, realizing it hadn’t been a bad omen, just a dream about her mom.

"I'm... I'm alright, just the usual," Kayleigh said with relief.

"Good, I'm glad. Are you busy? If so, I can hang up."

"Oh, okay. I’ll call you when I have time. Bye!"

After hanging up, Aylin felt a bit downhearted, feeling insignificant to her mother. Then again, maybe that wasn’t so important. She was growing up, creating her own life. She comforted herself with this thought.

In the consultation room of the maternal and child health hospital in Houston, Dr. Quinn placed the test results on the desk, her brow furrowed in silence as she considered how to break the news to Kayleigh.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Quinn. My daughter—I thought it was important," Kayleigh said, noticing the doctor's solemn expression, offering an apologetic smile.

Dr. Quinn shook her head, indicating it wasn’t an issue, but she still hadn’t spoken.

"What's wrong, doctor? Is something wrong with the baby?" Kayleigh felt a sudden pang of anxiety.

"You have a daughter?" Dr. Quinn sidestepped her direct question. As a physician, she hoped her patients would realize what they had when they faced loss, to minimize the pain.

"Yes, I have two daughters. Honestly, I didn’t expect to get pregnant at my age. My husband and I were quite surprised!" More than surprised—they were thrilled. She had always wanted a child with Jonah, not because Aylin wasn’t close or Roz wasn’t good. She simply wanted to solidify her family with something deeply connected, like a child. Women can be sentimental like that.

"Ms. Myers, I still advise against having this baby..."

"No, Dr. Quinn, I know. At my age, I'm a high-risk pregnancy. I'll be careful!"

"Please, Ms. Myers, let me finish," Dr. Quinn interrupted firmly, tapping the test result on the desk. "Our tests indicate you have breast cancer. It's early-stage, with no adverse symptoms now. We can perform surgery, and you'll recover. However, the medication during surgery will affect your pregnancy. We recommend terminating the pregnancy..."

Kayleigh's eyes instantly brimmed with tears. How cruelly fate had played her! She recalled Jonah's gentle kiss on her cheek today, daydreaming about whether they'd have a son or daughter, filling him with pride.

Jonah was a successful businessman, but that was trivial to Kayleigh. Even if he were as penniless as her ex-husband, Aiden, as long as they were together, they could make a life. Yet Jonah had lost much—his prior wife had been caught in the grip of addiction, tarn

Aylin Scott took a day off to visit Milena Gibson, while Salem had his childhood friend Francis Lawson over at his place. Salem and Francis had been thick as thieves since their sandbox days, practically growing up together. Though Francis was a regular at Salem's house, lately, Salem's attention had been more on Aylin, unintentionally neglecting his longtime buddy.

Parents usually divide their kid's friends into two camps at school: the "good" ones and the "bad" ones. The "good" friends are those who seem to excel in everything—the benchmarks parents hope their kids will aspire to. While parents wish their children would emulate them, kids often feel overshadowed. On the flip side, "bad" friends are viewed as rowdy influences, cautionary tales for worried parents. Francis was neither; while he was often mischievous, he excelled in many areas, making Salem feel challenged but thrilled to have him around.

“Hey, Salem,” Francis said, lounging on the couch, “you always seem to invite me over when your angelic sister isn’t around. What’s so bad about letting me meet her? I swear I’m harmless!”

Salem shrugged, shutting the door behind him, and tossed a slipper at Francis. "Get off your lazy bum! Mom just cleaned the couch covers, and if you mess them up, she won't scold you, but she'll definitely have a word with me!"

Francis caught the slipper, pinching his nose. “Man, your foot odor could knock out a skunk! Good thing you weren’t born into my family—our head nurse would have chased you around!”

Salem laughed and bounded over to reclaim the slipper. “Give it back!”

“Nah!”

Salem threatened to rub his foot on Francis, “You handing it over, or not?”

Francis, holding his nose, tossed the slipper back. “Take it, stink boy!”

Just then, the sound of keys turned in the door. Francis quickly sat upright, "Who is it? Your sister?"

Salem glanced at the entrance. Sure enough, Aylin walked in, kicking off her shoes and slipping into house slippers, “Aylin, weren’t you hanging out at a friend’s place? You’re back already?”

“Yeah, after dinner, Milena’s friends wanted to hit a club. Not my vibe, so I left early.” Aylin glanced briefly at Francis before she looked away.

“Aylin, meet my best bud, Francis Lawson. He’s the voice of the school radio and the literature club president. He’s got some tips for your writing!” Salem made the introductions with pride, as if Francis's accomplishments were his own.

Aylin replied with a simple "Oh," not showing much enthusiasm or warmth, catching Francis off guard. Without much interest, she turned to Salem and said, "Salem, Aunt’s working late. I’ll see what’s in the fridge and cook up something for you two." She headed to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

"Anything’s fine!" Francis chimed in, more for effect than out of need. Once Aylin was gone, he whispered to Salem, "Wow, your sister’s something—beautiful and composed!"

Salem shot him a stern look and muttered, “I’m serious—no funny business. Go be Romeo somewhere else, but keep away from my sister!”

Though Francis didn’t fully get Salem’s vibe, his carefree nature remained undeterred. Something about Aylin fascinated him, not romantically, just pure admiration.

That evening, Aylin's simple pasta with tomatoes and eggs garnered raves from the guys, though they’d tasted better. The compliments were more habitual than heartfelt, and Aylin didn’t dwell on their typical praise.

Later, Francis dropped by Aylin's class under the guise of inviting her to join the literature club, suggesting she casually submit a piece for him to review. His presence kicked up a storm among the girls nearby, making Aylin finally believe Salem's friend was indeed popular at school. It was Aylin's essay, "A Life's Inquiry," that truly engaged Francis—not in a romantic light, but through mutual respect and empathy.

In "A Life's Inquiry," Aylin shared a mood, tranquil yet poignant, like a gentle river or a calm sea. Reading her words, Francis recognized she was different, distinct in her introspection and insights. There was an air of grace about her, like a classic painting—subtle yet significant. If there was a word for it, it would be "aloof," yet an aloofness mixed with warmth, charm, and serenity. She was anything but a typical sixteen-year-old.

He felt it was time to openly express his admiration.

On a bright day, he read Aylin's "A Life's Inquiry" over the school radio.

“You are unique, yet you seek happiness like everyone else. Happiness isn't elusive because your standards are high; it's about keeping your heart open…” he concluded.

Hearing her own words over the radio initially brought Aylin quiet joy—unspoken yet profound. But as Francis finished speaking, tears streamed down her face—not from sorrow or relief, but pure understanding. There exists a kind of dialogue beyond words, found only when one writes and another truly listens.

“Hey, the handsome guy is back!” Milena Gibson teased Aylin playfully, “Wow, you’re moved to tears! Our star writer skipped two math classes for this. No surprise you’re emotional!” Milena teased Aylin, hoping it would help her face the waiting boy with more poise. Milena wished Aylin would find love, believing it might fill the void in her life.

Aylin chuckled, “Enough already! Quit teasing!”

“Hold it together, no tears! Not yet, anyway!” Milena made a reassuring gesture.

Aylin gently nudged Milena aside and approached Francis with an open heart, brimming with joy. Perhaps this joy wasn’t romance yet, but in that moment, she felt it deeply.

“Thank you,” Aylin said simply, not specifying whether it was for his acknowledgment or for understanding her heart’s voice. She trusted he’d get it, even if not instantly, someday.

“No problem,” Francis managed, smiling shyly, entirely captivated by Aylin. He couldn’t muster his usual playful banter.

During breaks, they’d stroll together—a silent pact between them. They never labeled it dating. They didn’t speak of love, and often, words weren’t needed. They walked, close or apart, leisurely circling the track. Their hearts walked too, wandering aimlessly yet joyfully.

Some things need not be said, just shared understanding.

Aylin hadn’t expected Kayleigh Myers to drop by. That day, while attending a lecture, her phone vibrated in her bag. Anxious, she silenced it, worried the eccentric professor might notice. Even through his thick glasses, a glance from him was unnerving. Once class ended, she called her mom back.

"Mom, is everything okay? I was in class."

Unexpectedly, Kayleigh sounded ecstatic. "Aylin, guess where I am right now?"

Aylin, perceptive as ever, knew her mom must be somewhere different. "London? Or New York?"

"Right on! I’m at the Marriott by your school!"

"Seriously?!" Aylin felt a thrill. A luxury hotel! But she calmed herself, "Did you come with Uncle Dan for a business trip?"

"Nope, just me. I’m here to see you," Kayleigh answered confidently, sensing her daughter’s thoughts.

The response warmed Aylin's heart. With her guard down, she exclaimed, "Send me your room number. I’ll pop by after dropping off my books!"

As Aylin stepped through the hotel’s revolving doors, she savored the feeling. The staff's looks weren’t particularly friendly, but she understood. How often did students like her walk into such grand places?

The hotel radiated luxury. No wonder her mother trailed Uncle Dan eagerly; who wouldn’t yield to such comfort? But reflecting on her father’s imprisonment brought sadness. It wasn’t her mom’s fault but that woman, Lulu’s. So there was no need to measure her mom’s happiness against her dad’s downfall. Aylin tried to smile at her mom, embracing her warmly.

"Mom, why didn’t you mention you were coming sooner?" Aylin playfully rebuked, wrapping herself around Kayleigh.

"I missed you, sweetie. I missed hugging my precious big girl," Kayleigh said, kissing Aylin’s forehead tenderly.

That night, they nestled together, lost in nostalgia. After nine long years, Aylin felt truly at home in her mother’s arms, relishing the love she'd yearned for. It was overwhelming, and amidst this sweetness, she lost track of its taste. Was there bitterness too? No matter, it was all she’d sought through childhood and adolescence, and now it filled her heart.

Kayleigh, too, recounted Aylin's early years—from her first cries to her first steps, first words, and first writing, down to every illness and doctor's visit, memories etched in vivid detail.

Aylin chuckled at her mom's storytelling, "Seriously, Mom?"

"Did I really grow up that slow?"

"Hey, Mom, see? I’ve got your widow’s peak!"

As they laughed, Aylin suddenly felt a pang of sadness. They’d missed so much time together. Her mom hadn’t forgotten her at all. When a mother remembers every little detail of your past, it’s not a miracle—it’s maternal love.

“Oh, you silly girl, why the tears suddenly?” Kayleigh pulled Aylin close, "Sweetheart, you’re grown up now; take care and don’t cry so easily." As she spoke, her own tears started to fall.

Aylin giggled, “Well, I see where I get it—I’m clearly your daughter. Can Uncle Dan and Rohan handle you?”

“You cheeky…” Kayleigh laughed.

“Mom, you should live happily with them. I mean it. Your happiness is paramount. Besides, my little brother—he’s family too, isn’t he?”

“Of course!”

“Please don’t dislike Dad, okay? Mom,” Aylin looked at her, "Things are in the past now. Dad’s not a bad guy. He grew up without a dad and under Grandma's wing. That’s why he seems rebellious, trying to be seen. Look, even you fell for him! Sometimes I feel that way too, wanting to stand out because you weren’t there, yet not wanting to vanish, just wanting to be special."

"My daughter’s nothing like him!" Kayleigh teased.

“Alright, Mom, I know about Lulu. But Dad’s really changed. The other day she came to see him, but he didn’t meet her. Dad’s different now, he’s made…” Aylin paused, realizing she’d revealed too much, sticking out her tongue playfully before continuing.

Kayleigh smiled, "I believe you."

Whether she truly believed didn’t matter much now. That time, those people, seemed like another life. She didn’t want to hate anymore; she no longer had the energy. Yet, her kind-hearted daughter, bearing so much at a young age, didn’t hold resentment. The question stayed in Kayleigh’s heart, knowing the answer. No more trust issues remained, she thought quietly.

"Mom, in this life," yes, this life nearing its twilight, "Mom never meant to hurt anyone, but that’s easier said than done. I've let you down the most. I haven’t been the mother you deserved. You don’t blame me, but I can’t help feeling guilty. And Raiden and Milan have treated you like their own; I'm so thankful, but never got to thank them. Then there's your grandparents—they're aging, and I can’t be with them..."

“Mom?!” Aylin looked at Kayleigh in surprise. Her words weren’t just sad; they filled Aylin with a foreboding.

Kayleigh realized she’d worried her daughter, so with a relaxed smile, she said, “Look at me, I’m leaving tomorrow, getting all sentimental.”

“Don’t be gloomy! You can always visit, or I can come during breaks to see you and my little brother!”

Kayleigh gently rubbed her stomach, silently pondering how many "futures" were left, "Aylin, if someday I’m not around, when you meet Rohan and the baby, I hope you can be sisters."

Aylin laughed, “Mom’s turning sentimental, see! Another tear! Quit talking morbidly. You’ll live long and happy, and we’ll stick to you like glue!”

Watching her mother tenderly touch her belly, Aylin thought deeply. Nineteen years ago, her mom must’ve stroked her belly with similar joy. For the first time, Aylin truly comprehended her mother's journey. Her life was tough, yet she lived fully because she loved everyone. Her kindness wasn’t weakness; her gentleness masked strength; her mother was indeed a woman with profound understanding of life, wisdom, and insight.