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.

Aylin Scott preferred a simple, uncomplicated life. She dreaded the whirl of chaos and complexity, feeling unprepared for such demands. Despite her strong desire to spend time alone with Francis Lawson, she wasn’t ready to admit she’d fallen for him. Perhaps she lacked the emotional strength or readiness to fully open her heart to love. She only wished to enjoy its sweet promise. The constant warmth in her smile was a clear sign to anyone observing that her time for love had come.

Milena Gibson often teased her recently, saying she was "destined for romance." Aylin would insistently explain, "Francis and I aren't like that." Even though Milena seemed to agree, Aylin knew she didn’t buy their friendship story. Aylin herself sometimes wondered if she was getting too emotionally involved.

Sitting alone in the classroom, Aylin rested her chin on her hands, getting lost in thought as she looked around the empty room. This was different from her earlier feelings of loneliness. In this quiet space, she could connect with her innermost thoughts.

Aylin was determined to be a good student, knowing how valuable her chance at the prestigious boarding school was. Yet, Francis’s irresistible kindness often seemed to distract her from this path, filling her with a sense of unease.

"Why are you still here?" The gentle, sweet voice belonged to Miss Toni, her teacher.

Toni felt slightly puzzled, as Aylin’s distant expression seemed to push her away. No, she couldn’t let this chance slip by, nor could she retreat. This young homeroom teacher, fresh out of college, silently encouraged herself as she casually picked up a book from Aylin’s desk, flipping through it awkwardly, "Brene Brown's book on the soul. It's a great read!"

"Yes, it’s quite interesting," Aylin replied with a nervous smile.

"Alright, it’s getting late. Head home!" Toni gave Aylin’s shoulder a friendly pat before leaving the classroom.

Watching Toni walk away, Aylin felt a bit uneasy. Miss Toni was so kind, graceful, and approachable, without any of the sternness or aloofness of a strict teacher. Yet, why did she feel frightened? She couldn’t explain it, but in those moments, even fearing kind people, she sensed the depth of her own loneliness.

She wished to escape her solitude, but would Francis be her knight in shining armor? He seemed to be, like a warm, lively flame. She hoped his warmth could reach her, melt her barriers, but she didn’t want to rush into declarations of love to avoid the pressure.

At home, Kayleigh Gardner paced anxiously around the kitchen, frequently peeking in. She was seething, but the ticking clock only heightened her agitation. Finally, she couldn’t hold back anymore and knocked on the sliding kitchen door, saying, "Are you just going to let this slide? At this rate, Aylin's going to end up like her mother!"

Raiden Gardner, chopping potatoes, set down the knife and smiled, "Mom, what’s the matter now?"

"What’s the matter? I’ve been here four days, and when has she ever come home on time? In a town like this, with all its attractions and distractions, she's probably getting mixed up with the wrong crowd!" Kayleigh was unfamiliar with and intimidated by the vivid outside world that seemed to captivate people unnoticed. Her son had been drawn in by it, spending little time at home.

"Mom, you’re imagining things. Aylin isn’t like that! Didn’t I tell Saleem she’s staying late at school for a project?" Raiden replied, trying to smooth things over. He knew Aylin was making excuses; her stories about projects or helping classmates were merely pretexts. She simply wasn’t in a hurry to return home and face her grandmother. Honestly, even he was relieved she wasn’t home early; her grandmother critiqued everything.

Just then, Aylin walked in. "Hi, Grandma," she greeted politely.

Kayleigh, who had been keeping an eye on the door, turned her head away, pretending not to see or hear Aylin. Aylin was used to this and wasn’t too hurt by it. She changed her shoes, washed her hands, and went to her room.

She left the door ajar, not wanting her grandmother to accuse her of shutting her out.

Kayleigh sat on the couch, the TV playing a soap opera she had no interest in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aylin flipping through a book. Kayleigh knew Aylin was deliberately avoiding her. Though Kayleigh didn’t care for the girl, she resented being actively ignored by her.

"Look at that dress! So short, how’s she supposed to wear it? Raiden, you spoil her, and she’ll land in trouble. She’ll just run off with some rogue, like mother, like daughter!" Kayleigh remarked about the tailored dress Aylin was wearing, which Raiden had made for her last week. It was new but not revealing. Many girls wore similar styles, yet Kayleigh criticized it anyway. These comments hit Aylin hard, and she slammed the door behind her.

Later, Raiden finished up in the kitchen, and seeing Aylin with her head buried under the covers in her room, he walked over gently. He lifted the duvet, saying in a soothing tone, "Come on, sweetheart! It’s hot in here. Aren’t you worried about getting a rash? Dinner’s ready!"

He reached for her hand and found it wet with tears. In the dim light, her tear-streaked face tugged at Raiden's heart. The pain and tenderness overwhelmed him. He pulled her close, "Hey, don’t cry. I know you’re hurt, but your grandma is old now. Let’s not take it to heart, okay?"

Raiden felt his attempts at comfort were weak.

His embrace was warm, exuding a fatherly scent, and Aylin appreciated being held like this, in a fatherly embrace. In this warmth, she couldn’t keep her tears at bay.

"Don’t cry now. It’s alright," Raiden murmured, soothing her like a child.

"Uncle, am I really so terrible that she would hate me?" Aylin sobbed. "She’s my real grandma. Why is she so harsh? She holds a grudge against my mom, but that's not me. Even during the family’s struggles, she loved you. Isn’t that right?"

Raiden wiped away her tears. Aylin was right. Her mother was tough with outsiders, but to her own children, she showed kindness. With her mother’s protective nature, Raiden’s childhood, teen years, and youth were happy. He couldn’t understand Aylin’s suffering in that home.

"Uncle, I know she resents my mom, but I haven’t had any contact with her in years, and Grandma knows that. Why transfer that resentment to me? Why suggest I’ll end up like her? I’m not like her. Even when Grandma is harsh, I’ve never considered leaving. I just want to avoid her hostility. Do you get that?”

Seeing the hurt in Aylin’s eyes, Raiden felt the family owed her too much, more than they could ever repay. She couldn’t continue living trapped by bitterness, pride, and insecurity. He wanted her life to be full, or at least appear that way. He knew what the child was missing the most.

"Aylin, can we talk about your mother?" Raiden asked cautiously.

Aylin was taken aback. Since her parents' divorce, this was the first time her uncle had broached the topic of "that person." She felt both nervous and eager, choosing neither to decline nor to accept outright.

"Your mom married into our family at twenty-two. She was a good woman, wanting to settle down with your dad. After she had you, she became even more grounded. I never questioned that! Over the years, you've seen the kind of man your dad is. Do you think any woman should devote her life to someone like that? Regarding their marriage, I want to defend your dad because he’s my brother, but as a woman, I must say your mom was a good woman, even when she gave up. It was tough for her." Raiden unexpectedly felt tears for Kayleigh Myers.

"She was a good woman, but she doesn’t deserve to be a mom."

"Don’t say that, Aylin. No good woman doesn’t want to be a good mom. When she left, she wanted to take you with her. I didn’t let her! I promised her I’d treat you like my own daughter. If you’re upset, blame your uncle. The further she is from you, the more she misses you. Try to understand her, okay?"

"Does she really miss me?"

"Of course, always."

Whether her uncle’s words were true or not, Aylin felt a rare sense of contentment at that moment.

"Aylin, one day, when you grow up, when you love someone and have children, you'll understand some bonds and loves can’t be severed."

Her uncle’s words made Aylin reflect deeply on relationships.

Aylin disappeared for two days before reemerging in the dormitory, her joy radiating brightly. Her happiness was so palpable it seemed to spill over, lighting up her entire presence. The girls had been worried about her, but upon seeing her now, they all seemed to have a revelation, nearly speaking in unison, "Oh, had a romantic encounter?"

Chelsea grabbed her playfully, "Tell us, was he everything?"

Aylin gently pushed her away, "What nonsense!"

Aylin laughed it off as a joke, and likely the other roommates did too, because she had already told Jemma her mother was visiting. But Sheila, who wasn’t in the know, naturally assumed it was about Eren after overhearing. Unsure of what to say, she left the room hurriedly, feeling a twinge of irritation.

In English class, Aylin sat beside Sheila like always. While pulling out her notebook, two combs from the Royalty Hotel slipped onto her desk. She set them aside and continued with her notes.

Sheila was annoyed, thinking Aylin had gotten close to Eren and refused to look directly at her. However, she noticed this small detail from the corner of her eye and blurted out, "Wow, Eren’s got money! A night at the Royalty Hotel is like, two or three grand. Two nights would cover our tuition for a year!"

Aylin chuckled at Sheila’s sour tone, "What are you thinking? I’ve only seen Eren once since we crossed paths on the pier."

Sheila’s mood lifted instantly, "Not Eren? So, you’re seeing a rich guy?"

"Stop kidding around! My mom flew in from Los Angeles. They’ve been saying this since I moved here three years ago. Why would she bother with a drunkard?"

"Really? Are you not going to give me another chance? We loved each other so much back then—don’t you remember? Aylin, you can’t be this heartless, you know? I still love you!" His voice was raw and desperate, filled with despair yet earnest.

Francis’s voice echoed through the phone. The confident young man she remembered was now different, changed by time. Yet she still felt an unexplainable sympathy. Strangely, tears started to fall as she silently wiped them away. The past? Was it truly over? She asked herself to forget, to release the sweet memories and painful scars.

"It’s over, Francis! It’s all over!" Her voice was firm.

"Can we at least stay friends, Aylin?" He sounded clearer now.

"No, thanks. Goodbye, Francis." Aylin responded coldly. She had once hoped for a light and fragrant friendship, like the scent of blooming flowers, but today he had shattered that peace. Now, nothing remained.

"Aylin, you’re so cold-hearted! Remember this—I love you, Aylin! Only you. I don’t even know why I love you so much..." Francis shouted into the phone, and the sound echoed in Aylin’s ears until they were numb. She instinctively held the phone farther away.

Sheila heard the shouting and smirked, deliberately raising her voice, "Wow, that’s intense! Why not give him another chance?"

This prompted Jemma, Chelsea, and Quinn to gather around, "What’s up?" "I knew it! A talented and beautiful woman like Aylin is bound to attract admirers!" "Shh—"

Aylin shot them a panicked look, covering the phone, "It’s not what you think. Go back to what you were doing!"

The girls laughed and dispersed.

Aylin spoke into the phone, "Francis, I have things to do, so I’m hanging up."

Love, once gone, is gone for good, unrecoverable.

Aylin finally settled at "Artsy Culture." Apart from an involuntary touch of melancholy, Aylin could be considered quite the head-turner. Attractive people do tend to blend in more easily, except for a few unfriendly glares from some women. Especially from Rebecca, who regarded Aylin as an adversary.

Aylin understood what this woman was thinking. People often project their own insecurities onto others. But she couldn’t hastily explain that she wouldn’t be the rival Rebecca imagined in competition over men.