Same, same but different!

Part 7

Ömer walks to him and lean against the edge of Metehan's desk.

Ömer: You haven't moved in a while. Either you're designing the next Eiffel Tower in your head or something's bothering you.

Metehan blinked out of his trance and forced a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Metehan: Just thinking. Sorry. I'll get back to work now.

Ömer crossed his arms, not buying it.

Ömer: Come on. You've been staring at the same spot for fifteen minutes. That's not just 'thinking'. Something wrong?

Metehan hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the pencil. Finally, he exhaled.

Metehan: It's my mom.

Ömer's expression shifted subtly. He straightened, a little more alert now.

Ömer: Is she sick?

Metehan: No... no, not like that. She's fine. At least, physically.

He dropped the pencil, pushing his chair back slightly, arms now crossed over his chest in thought.

Metehan: It's just... something's been off since we came back from the ranch. She's distracted. Zoning out. She's not herself.

Ömer swallowed. The weight of Metehan's words began settling in his gut like stones.

Ömer: Did you ask her about it?

Metehan: Of course. I even sat her down yesterday, tried to get her to talk. But she brushed it off, said she was just tired or thinking about the exhibition. But that's not it. (He hesitates, his voice softer now)
She tells me everything, Ömer bey. Always has. Ever since I was a kid. I know when she's hiding something and she is.

Ömer looked away, jaw tightening. The air between them grew heavier. Ömer's chest tightened, and for a second, guilt twisted sharply in his stomach. He could still feel the heat of that kiss. The look in Kıvılcım's eyes when she pulled away. The silence that had followed. The confusion he knew he'd caused.

Metehan sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

Metehan: I don't like seeing her like this. She's the strongest woman I know. But lately, it feels like she's... struggling with something she doesn't want anyone to see.

Ömer couldn't hold the eye contact anymore. He turned away, staring out the window, jaw clenched.

Ömer (softly, more to himself than Metehan): Yeah... I know that look.

Metehan didn't notice Ömer's conflicted expression as he turned back to his drawing and picked up the pencil again.

Metehan: Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe she really is just tired.

But Ömer knew better. He wasn't overthinking. Not at all. And the worst part was he had no idea how to fix it without risking everything again.

The room is dimly lit, warm with the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp shaped like a little moon. Mavi is snuggled beneath her favorite blanket the one with stars and unicorns, her hair still damp from her bath, and a half-read bedtime story open on her lap.

Ömer sits beside her on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her damp curls away from her forehead.

Ömer: Are you sleepy?

Mavi (yawning): yes baba, so let's close the book.

Ömer takes the book and puts it in her book cabinet.

Mavi: Can I tell you something?

Ömer (smiling): You can tell me anything kızım.

Mavi fiddled with the corner of her blanket for a moment, her small fingers twisting it around nervously.