Mirai opened the velvet case. It contained rows of sparkling earrings on white satin. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires. Each pair had two. In a separate recess, gold coins were stacked in an even pile. There were twelve of them. Fine workmanship and high standard. Each one was worth a fortune. She ran her fingers over them and smiled through her tears. Sweet mommy. She did not dare to defend her daughter, but she collected a dowry for her grandchildren.
Mirai opened the letter with trembling fingers. The lines were uneven and in some places, there were vague spots of tears. For some reason, it was they who made the heart squeeze with acute pain. The woman kissed the yellowed paper and began to read:
"My soul! My girl! Forgive me for everything. For my weakness and fear of your father. Now I understand - my cowardice destroyed everything. I thought your father's anger would subside, he would cool down and allow you to return home. But time passed, and he seemed to have lost his mind. He didn't even allow me to mention your name. I said I want to help you with money. He beat me. Blocked my credit cards and put in an overseer who he calls a security guard. And I was silent and this silence is my biggest sin and guilt. I had to fight, scream, to demand! To protect and defend you, my girl, and your children. The fact that I am dying without seeing you is my fault and the payment for cowardice. But if you only knew how much it hurts me to think that I cannot see you and say goodbye. Kiss the girls and Mert. This is my only desire, but my husband refused me too. How bitter! I've lived a worthless life. But you, my girl, you are strong! You will pass all the tests, and you will become happy! I will pray to the Almighty for this every minute.
The jewels in the case. I inherited coins from my mother, and I secretly bought earrings for girls' birthdays. Don't ask where I got the money for this. I will be ashamed to admit...
This inheritance may not be your father's millions, but I'm happy that I was able to collect it. I asked Hazal to find you and give my modest gifts. If you are reading this letter, then it means she did it.
Goodbye, my soul. I hug you tightly! Kiss the children for me and tell them that their grandmother loved them very much.
Your mother"
Mirai finished reading the letter, laid it gently on the table, dropped her face in her hands, and burst into tears.
At that moment she hated her father to the bottom of her heart and cursed his cruelty.
- I love you, Mom! She whispered.
***
Zubeyir, listening to Laila's words, froze in the doorway without breathing. He so wanted to hear what she would say about him to her friend. That this was a woman, he did not even doubt. His beautiful and modest Laila will never make friends with men.
And the shy woman continued to say:
- Imagine he's such an idiot! He is deeply in love with me and does whatever I say. Believes I'm like a Mother Teresa. It turned out to be easier to trick him than to tell a fairy tale to a child. I blinked my eyes, let out a tear, called him beloved a couple of times - and voila! The fool is dancing to my tune and wants to introduce me to his mother, - Laila laughed sarcastically. - But that is not all! He is already dreaming of how we will get married, and we will live as one family with his mom! - The giggling turned into lively laughter. - Can you imagine, I am with his mother in the same house!
It seemed to Zubeyir that the world was split in half. That his soul was taken out and trampled on with dirty boots. On shaky legs, he entered the room and stopped so that Laila could see him. She looked at him and hung up the phone.
- Bye, dear! I'll call you later.
Throwing the phone on the bed, she smiled invitingly at the guy and beckoned him to her.
- Hello! Did you come? So early...
- It's true? - Zubeyir asked dully. - What I heard, right? You lied to me, used ..., considered a naive fool...
Laila's face changed. Became angry and mocking.
- Enough! - She stopped the guy. - What are you whining about? You came up with a fairy tale that a beauty fell in love with a fool, and believed in it! Hahaha! You have to be such an idiot!
And he idolized this witch? Considered her his soul and life? Believed without looking back and did mean deeds for her? What for? Why was he so blind?
"I'll tell Mister Omer about everything," he said firmly and looked into her face distorted with anger. - About the fact that I changed the recordings of video cameras, deleted the letter from his and Defne's e-mail, changed the date of registration of the sketch in the Sapphire database. I'll tell him everything.
Laila jumped up to him and hissed in his face:
- Just try it! There will be nothing for me. I am no longer a Passionis employee. And here you are! You will fly out like a bullet, without recommendations and in the blacklisting of workers. And how then are you going to support your sick mom?! What money?!
Zubeyir's eyes darkened. Laila is right. He is a naive fool. Made a mistake. A terrible mistake that can destroy his life and the life of his mother. Don't give a damn about himself, but his mother ... she didn't deserve poverty and shame. He turned slowly and walked towards the door. Laila grabbed his hand and, turning him to her, demanded an answer:
- You will be silent?
He nodded, pushed her away, and left the room.
***
Omer woke up from gentle touches to his face. Warm fingers stroked his cheek, brow line, forehead, and lips. He caught them, squeezed them in his hand, and kissed them.
- Good morning, my life, - Defne whispered and he opened his eyes.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed and smiled at him warmly. Omer pulled her hand and laid her next to him. He kissed her, and only then said hello:
- Good morning my love! How good it is to wake up from your gentle touches.
Defne hugged him and, laying her head on his chest, said:
- I promised that I would be with you all day. So that you don't feel lonely for a single minute. To not feel cold.
Omer pressed his cheek to the top of her head and replied:
- My soul ... while you are with me, I am warm.
"We need to get up...," Defne reminded, but she didn't even move.
Omer hugged her tighter and replied:
- Let's lie down like this for another five minutes.
- Whatever you want...
Her voice and the warm touch of her fingers healed the old pain. It wasn't that sharp anymore. Melted and turned into sadness.
- Say so always... - asked Omer.
- Always ... - promised Defne.
The Mercedes, instead of turning onto the highway leading out of the city, turned a completely different side and headed towards the center of Istanbul.
- Aren't we going to the poplar forest? - Defne asked her husband.
"A little later," he replied. - First, I'll take you to another of mom's places.
- What place? - Defne perked up.
- An old pastry shop. It is over a hundred years old. It is still used to prepare desserts according to old recipes. Mom loved to go there. We came several times a year and ordered a Montebianco. This is a winter dessert. Very tasty.
- Shall we order?
- Are you asking? Necessarily! And to it - Turkish coffee. It is boiled there in а copper Turkish coffee-pot on the hot sand. A whole art.
Omer spoke, and he confidently drove the car along the road filled with cars. Defne admired his proud profile and strong hands gripping the steering wheel. Her chest ached. How she would like his mother to be alive, and Omer did not have to suffer and miss her. Defne felt that she would have loved Mrs. Emine with all her heart. As much as her gorgeous son.
"I love you," she said, and a smile blossomed on Omer's face.
"Do you know," he said, "that you have incredible talent.
- Which one?
- To respond to the place and time. Always perfect. At the right time, you say words that are vitally important for another person to hear. The talent for making other people happy. You must be an Angel.
Tears welled up in Defne's eyes. She didn't wipe them off. Let them flow. Crying at a touching moment is as natural as laughing.
"I'm your wife," she said. - Only.
"The best that could happen to me," Omer replied and lightly stroked her round belly.
When Omer opened the door to the pastry shop, a bell rang melodiously. It informed the owners that guests had come to them. Omer let Defne inside and went in after her.
It smelled of coffee and vanilla. Copper Turkish coffee-pots, polished to a shine, were lined up in a row on a brazier with hot sand. A man in a white apron moved them deftly, not allowing the brown foam caps to leave the borders of the narrowed neck. In a mahogany sideboard, behind a glass case, there were crystal cups of desserts and silver dishes with pastries. Tables covered with snow-white tablecloths surrounded by chairs with high, carved backs. On the walls were black and white photographs. On them, elegant café visitors from the last century were frozen in graceful poses.
In this place, time disappeared. It seemed to have stopped to drink coffee, and so it remained here forever.
An elderly man in a white apron tied over a black suit came out to the guests. Seeing Omer, he beamed with a smile and greeted him happily:
- Omer, my boy! How long have you not visited us!
Omer bowed to him and apologized:
- Sorry, Mr. Abdula. I'm sorry. I have no excuses. But, as you can see, I came. And not alone, - he took Defne's hand and looked at her with undisguised love and tenderness. - My wife, Defne. I brought her to feed her with your famous Montebianco.
- Did well! - the man carefully examined Defne and nodded his head approvingly. She blushed from such attention and looked down. The elderly Turk liked this behavior. He smiled at Omer and said: - You have chosen a worthy girl. She is as beautiful and sweet as your mother, Mrs. Emine, was.
- Oh yeah! - agreed on Omer and nodded at the table by the window. - We will take our usual place.
- Of course, my boy. And now I'll bring you a Montebianco and coffee, - the owner promised and went to the buffet.
Omer helped Defne to take off her coat and gave it to the waiter boy who came up. Having helped his wife sit down at the table, he sat down opposite and asked:
- How do you feel here? Like it?
- Very much! She replied. - I seemed to be in the last century. So ... exciting. You know, I can perfectly imagine your mother here. She was very suitable for the place.
"Yes, it's so," Omer agreed. - So are you. You fit this place and this minute.
- Thanks. You have no idea how important this is to me.
"You're wrong," Omer lightly touched her face and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. - I can imagine it very well.
The owner brought in glass bowls of dessert and coffee. Having wished Bon appetite, he left the couple alone. Defne leaned over and breathed in the scent of Montebianco.
- Oh, how good it smells!
"It tastes even better," Omer assured her and took in a teaspoon of thick, fancifully twisted strands of dessert. - Open your mouth.
Defne obediently allowed to be fed with Montebianco. - So tasty! It resembles chestnuts, only sweet.
- These are chestnuts. This dessert is made from them.
- Darling, you got me! - Defne said with a sly smile. - I will now pull you here every week, and demand Montebianco.
"Alright," Omer agreed. - I will only be happy.
Defne put her hand on her stomach and gently stroked it.
- We will bring Emine here. Feed her with Montebianco and tell her about her Grandma.
"And fly kites," Omer pointed to the window. Defne looked. It overlooked a grassy area on a hill above the embankment. - The perfect place to fly kites. Mom and I have always done that. It was fun. Even when she was ill ... my mother said that here she forgets about the illness and feels healthy and full of energy.
Defne scrambled to her feet and, grabbing her husband's hand, pulled him toward the exit.
- Where are you going? He wondered. - Wait, - Omer took money out of his pocket and put it on the table. - Now let's go.
Defne led him to the top of the hill. On the way, she bought a white balloon on a long, silvery ribbon from a street vendor. Stopping on a platform above the bay, Defne handed the balloon to Omer and said:
- Tell it everything you want to tell your mom and let it fly.
Omer took it in his hands and closed his eyes. Defne stepped aside so as not to disturb him in this private, and such a piercingly sad moment.
"Mom, I miss you," Omer said quietly. His voice broke and trembled perceptibly. Defne had a lump in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. She stood as quiet as a mouse and listened. - I miss you. I remember how you taught me to dance, how you and I flew a kite, how we listened to the rustle of poplars in the forest, and I painfully want to live these moments again. Even if not them, let it be just breakfast, one single one, but with you. So that I can see your face again and hear your voice. To tell you about Defne. She resembles so much like you, Mom. The same generous and kind. Delicate. Her touch works a miracle. Soothes sadness and relieves pain. She brought me back to life, gave me the whole world. And now she carries my child. Daughter. We will call her by your name - Emine. I know she will have your soul. The same great and merciful. And your smile ... so beautiful. When I close my eyes, I see it. You are always here, mom - Omer touched his chest. - Always with me. I love you, Mom!
He let go of the ball and that, caught by the wind, flew into the sky.
Defne went up to him and hugged him. He clasped his arms around her rounded figure. They stood with their heads thrown back and watched as a white ball with a long silvery ribbon disappeared among the clouds.
It was cloudy and quiet in the forest. The air smelled like poplar buds. This smell, bitter-tart, alarming, intensified sadness, and awakened memory. Omer helped Defne out of the car. Hand in hand, they wandered between the tall trees rushing into the sky. Sometimes Omer stopped. He touched the rough bark and a bright smile appeared on his lips.
"Tell me," Defne asked. - How did it happen that this forest was so important to your mother?
Omer stopped by a large tree and leaned against it with his back and the back of his head. Defne did the same. She pressed her back and head against the rough bark and found Omer's palms. Their hands entwined. A man and a woman stood on either side of the tall poplar and looked up at the sky.
"I was eight," said Omer. - Mom just got sick. She was a doctor and knew perfectly well what her diagnosis meant. And my father knew. He turned white in a day with fear for her. I didn't know. I thought carelessly that it was just a disease ... like a cold ... and it will be cured, - Defne heard a convulsive sigh and squeezed her husband's fingers tighter in her small palms. If she could take his pain for herself. If she could...
"Don't be silent," she pleaded. - Speak!
"It was June," Omer continued his story. - We were driving from the hospital. The road that led to our house was blocked and my father turned onto the ring road. It was then that my mother saw this forest. She asked my father to stop and got out of the car. I went out too. Mom smiled. So bright and joyful ... as before. She closed her eyes and spoke: "Omer, sonny, listen to how the poplars rustle ... like the ringing of bells. The most beautiful sound in nature. "I also closed my eyes and listened. And my mother hugged me. I felt so good. Warmly. We wandered through the forest for a long time. Mom was tired, and then my father took her in his arms and carried her to the car. I still remember how my mother smiled at him, how he looked at her. As a shrine. I did not understand his gaze then. And now I understand and imagine what was happening in his soul when he heard the mother's diagnosis. Seeing a loved one fading away is not just scary. This is hell on earth. His death is your death too. Father lived a year after my mother's death. But only his body existed, and his soul died with her. He was monogamous. As I am.
Defne's heart ached at his words. She wanted to cry, but she was holding back her tears. Silently she walked over to him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her shoulder, and froze.
How many years he came here alone, and felt only the pain of loss, coldness, and loneliness. Unspoken words burned his heart. And today he said them, and it became easier.
"Let's go home," Defne suggested quietly. - We will twist sarma in beet leaves and talk about your mom.
- Let's go, - agreed Omer.
He put Defne's hand on the crook of his elbow and led her to the car.
They were sitting in the kitchen, rolling up sarma, and talking. Omer talked about mom. He pulled from his memory all the funny, touching moments and carefully avoided the sad ones. Defne listened and smiled. She asked questions and Omer answered them without hiding anything.
And then they ate sarma in beetroot leaves, and Omer said that it was the same dish as his mother did.
And then they listened to Emine's thrusts and laughed every time the baby pounded her mother's belly with her tiny heels.
And then they lay embracing on their big bed and dreamed...
Their dreams were bright and beautiful. As they are.
***
Omer tried to send a letter to Italians for the tenth time, but the email refused to do so. He tried to call Zubeyir, but his phone answered that the subscriber was temporarily unavailable. Angry at the unavailable subscriber, Omer went into the waiting room and barked:
- Nazlican! Where is Zubeyir?! E-mail does not work, Italians are waiting for my documents, but I cannot get through to him!
The staff in the common room bowed their heads and began to demonstrate their hard work. And only the courier Mert showed not the slightest fear of the formidable boss. He stood at the secretary's desk, sorting delivery envelopes, and gaily watched what was happening.
Nazlican turned pale and answered:
- Zubeyir fell ill, Mr. Omer. I have been trying to resolve the mail issue but to no avail so far.
- What is the problem? Interposed Mert.
Nazlican looked at him reproachfully, thinking, why you meddle in other matters, but answered:
- Email does not send or receive letters.
- Can I take a look, - asked the boy. Nazlican and the big boss himself, Omer Iplikci, looked warily and with a great deal of doubt. "Don't be so alarmed," Mert reassured them. - I won't put the server down. I'll just look at the email.
- Do you understand computer programs? Omer asked.
"Yes, I'm a little obsessed with this topic," the boy grunted derisively. - And I have been attending computer courses for several months.
There was no choice. The Italians will not wait for Zubeyir to recover. Looking for another is also a waste of time. Nazlican looked questioningly at her boss. Omer nodded in the affirmative, and she invited the boy to her laptop.
Mert's fingers ran briskly over the keyboard. He was staring at the screen, frowning and chewing on his lips. Nazlican and Omer watched him without looking away.
- Well, what can I tell you, - said the boy. - I still need to look at the server, but even now it is clear that updates are blocked. This caused the software conflict. Some files require a new version of еmail, but it is not installed.
- What do you mean, not installed? Omer asked, puzzled. - And what then did Zubeyir update on my laptop a couple of days ago?
"I have no idea," Mert shrugged. "But the email hasn't been updated in a month.
- And what to do? - The boss and Nazlican asked in one voice. The secretary pressed her palms to her cheeks and groaned: - This is all work to be done!
"We need to reinstall the SMTP protocol, or better yet update to the latest version," Mert replied. - If you do this for all Passionis employees, the problem will disappear.
- Can you do that? Omer asked.
"It's a trifle," said Mert. - A couple of hours of time, access to the server, and a password to enter.
- Nazlican, - Omer turned to the secretary and ordered her: - Look for another courier for today. And take Mert to Zubeyir's office.
"I'll open the server room now," Nazlican said and took out the keys from the drawer. - A sticker with a password is attached to Zubeyir's computer. But promise," she raised her index finger and looked intently at the boy "that you won't break anything, and first of all, you will fix the email for Mr. Omer and me.
"Swell," Mert agreed easily. - What is there to break if everything is already broken?
Nazlican and Mert went to the server room. Omer hesitated for a second and then followed them. In the study, he caught sight of flower pots with chlorophytums. The ones that Laila bought.
- And what are they doing here? He asked Nazlican.
- The flowers? She asked, and Omer nodded in the affirmative. - Zubeyir himself wanted to pick them up. He saw them on my desk and asked. I gave permission. Is it a problem? Shouldn't have been allowed?
- Well no. Let him take them. I was just surprised.
Omer once again looked at the flowers and immediately forgot about them. His gaze stuck to the computer monitor. Mert was vividly and confidently conjuring the e-mail program. Ten minutes later, he said with satisfaction:
- Here you go! Yours, Mr. Omer, and Nazlican letters flew to the addressees. I'll take care of the rest now.
- Thanks! - Omer thanked him sincerely. "You helped us a lot today.
- Exactly, - Nazlican supported him and, out of an excess of feelings, kissed the boy on the cheek. - Our Savior! I am indebted to you. You work and I am running away to get my work done.
Mert winked at her cheerfully and returned to the program. He looked at the screen, and his fingers quickly ran across the keyboard. Omer involuntarily smiled at such zeal and asked the boy:
- Mert, when you're done, come to my office.
"Okay, Mr. Omer," he promised without turning around.
An hour and a half later, happy and radiant, he entered the boss's office and gallantly reported:
- Mr. Omer, I did everything! The email works like clockwork.
Omer pointed to a chair for him, and when the boy sat down, said:
- Well done! You helped us a lot today. You will go now to the accounting department. I ordered to give you a bonus.
"Thanks," Mert said. - I'm saving up for a laptop. With the bonus, the dream will become closer.
- Don't you have a laptop? And no computer? - Omer was surprised and immediately scolded himself: where could a computer come from in a family that until recently was barely making ends meet. But Mert was not in the least offended. He grinned sadly and replied:
- No. I studied at school. There is a computer class there. Sometimes friends shared their laptops. And now I am in the courses. They give a lot of useful information.
- Wait a minute, - Omer took the phone and called Nazlican. When she entered, he turned to her: - The laptop that Laila used is in the office behind the glass?
"Yes, Mr. Omer," the secretary confirmed.
"Bring it here," he ordered.
Mert, not understanding anything, looked with surprised eyes from the retreating Nazlican to the boss. He just winked at him and silently waited for the assistant to fulfill the request.
Nazlican returned and put the bright orange laptop on the table. Omer took it and handed it to Mert.
- Take it. Dreams must come true.
Nazlican's jaw dropped and her eyes turned into saucers. Mert looked no better. Having somehow coped with the amazement, he picked up the laptop and, stammering, asked:
- T-to-m-me? F-for good? B-but, it's so expensive!
- Take it, take it! - Omer smiled. - You deserve it.
Mert blossomed with a happy smile and gently stroked the glossy surface of the gift.
- I will cherish it like the apple of my eye, - he promised.
Now Nazlican smiled. Omer winked at her and nodded towards the door. The girl took a hint from the boss and left the office.
"It's great that you are pleased with the gift," Omer turned to Mert. - And now a serious, male conversation. Have you already chosen your university and faculty?
- University - yes, I chose, - answered the boy. - But the faculty ... I don't know. Mom says that I have to go to law or finance, but I'm not interested. How then, to work all my life and hate my job?
"So it turns out," Omer agreed. - You're right - you need to choose what you like. What do you think about programming, web design, IT technologies? These areas are now rapidly developing and specialists in such areas are in great demand. I will be the first to hire you when you graduate from the university in these specialties.
- Really? - Mert was delighted. - I thought about this faculty, but my mother said: do not hang in the clouds. You need to choose something more traditional and down to earth.
"I'll talk to your mom," the boss promised. - Today. And you take the gift and run to the accounting department for the bonus.
Mert jumped up, clutched the laptop to his chest, and blurted out:
- Thank you, Mr. Omer! You are the best boss ever! I run!
"Run, run," Omer looked at the retreating back and smiled. How nice it is to become a fairy and fulfill someone's dreams. But since he volunteered to be one, he must see the matter through to the end. He left the office and went to Sapphire.
He met Mirai as soon as he entered the waiting room. She smiled at him and asked:
- Are you going to Defne? But she is not here. The jewelers began work on the collection for the exhibition, and she left for the workshop.
Omer stopped and answered:
- I know. Defne called me. I did not come to her, but you.
Mirai turned pale and asked fearfully:
- To me? Did Mert do something? Oh, Allah! He is good. But just a boy! The wind is walking in his head...
"Wait, wait," Omer hastened to calm her down. - The conversation is really about Mert, but for a good. Let's go to your office and talk in a relaxed atmosphere.
"Please," Mirai indicated the direction and went to her office.
Omer followed. When the door closed behind them, he spoke:
- You have a wonderful, well-bred, and intelligent son. Today he saved Passionis from big problems. It turns out that Mert is quite good at computer programs.
- Yes, he is very passionate about programming. He even went to the courses, - Mirai sat down at the table and asked the guest: - Mr. Omer, sit down.
Omer complied with the request and briefly spoke about today's emergency and how Mert managed the situation.
- I gave him a prize and from Passionis presented a laptop. When you see it, do not be alarmed. Mert honestly deserves it, - he finished his story.
Mirai listened in silence, but her face blossomed. Her eyes lit up with a light whose name was pride in her child.
"Thank you," she said. - I could not even imagine this. I thought so, hobby.
Omer bent over the table and looked the woman in the eye.
- A hobby that can become a very good and loved job. Maybe Mert should study further on IT technologies?
"Ah, I don't know," Mirai answered sincerely. - We talked with him on this topic, but ... this is something new and incomprehensible. I am afraid that he will only waste time and be without a job. You said that Passionis will pay for Mert's studies on the condition that he returns to work for you. Does your company need such a specialist?
- Even more! Omer assured her. - The world is marching forward, and so are we. Please do not dissuade Mert. Let him go where he is drawn and do what he loves. And I will always support him.
"Thank you," Mirai thanked him warmly and shrugged. - Well, what then? Who am I to ruin my son's dream? Let it be as he wants.
"That's great," Omer smiled at her. - Then talk to Mert. I am sure he will be very happy with your decision.
Omer went out into the corridor and almost collided with his wife, who, holding her belly, was hurrying rather briskly to her place.
- Where are you rushing, - holding her by the shoulders, he protested.
- My dear? - She opened her eyes in surprise and smiled. - Why are you here?
"I came to talk to Mirai," Omer pointed to the door with his head. - About Mert. He saved us today.
Omer took Defne's arm and led her to her office. On the way, he told everything about the recent incident.
"We need to ask him to look at the e-mail in Sapphire," Defne said, closing the office door behind her and her husband. - It also works very badly. Although Zubeyir recently checked mine.
Omer helped her take off her cloak and froze with it in his hands. His eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose.
- Did Zubeyir come to you and look at your e-mail? He asked. - When?
- The day before yesterday, - Defne answered. - He said that he needs to update it. But I didn't see what he was doing. I was busy. He worked a couple of minutes on the laptop and left.
Omer frowned even more. He sat Defne on the sofa, while he, rubbing the back of his head and biting his lower lip, remained standing.
- Darling, what's wrong with you? - Defne worried and held out her hand to him.
Omer took it and sat down next to his wife. He looked into her face and tried to smile.
"I don't know, my soul. Maybe it is just paranoia," Defne chuckled softly. - Or maybe not. But Zubeyir has been behaving strangely lately.
- No wonder, - Defne stood up for the programmer, - He fell in love. Some distraction is forgiven for those in love.
"Well, if you say so," Omer's face relaxed and sparks danced in his eyes. - I believe you.
He leaned over to her and kissed her. In a few seconds, Zubeyir and his strange behavior completely disappeared from his head.
***
For more than a day, having locked himself in a room at home, Zubeyir indulged in self-flagellation. He suffered from guilt, scolded himself. Hated himself for being naive and short-sighted. For the fact that under a beautiful mask did not consider the rotten insides. Oddly enough, but the heart was not broken and did not suffer at all for the lost love. But the brain, reproaching for stupidity, did not give him rest. And his soul ached from the fact that he did so many bad things to people who were always kind to him. Zubeyir felt like a scoundrel, and all the time he was scrolling through the question - how to fix what he had done? He was trying to go to Mr. Omer, but then he remembered about his mother and left this thought. After all, she will not stand such a shame.
Then he remembered the sketch "Starry Night", the date of registration of which he changed in the Sapphire database. If nothing else, from what he has done, can't be changed, then at least he can correct it. Turning on the laptop, he entered the password and entered Sapphire's database via remote access. Found an entry about the Starry Night Jewelry Set and erased the date. But he didn't remember the old one. Removing it the day before yesterday, he did not even glance over it and now did not know what date to put into the column. After thinking, he decided to leave it empty. Whatever it was - but this is less evil than leaving the date that Laila asked to indicate.
***
Deniz Tranba was late at work. There were only a few days left for the presentation and he, as best he could try to help his beloved wife since all the worries associated with organizing the event lay on her shoulders. And she, moreover, in the last days felt unwell.
At this moment, the wife, comfortably sitting in an armchair, was scribbling the schedule for the models to appear on the catwalk, and Deniz was rechecking the lists of guests.
There was a short knock on the door, and Ruya entered with a brown paper bag in her hands.
- Mr. Deniz, the courier just brought it. There is no return address, but he said it was very important.
- Okay, come here, - Deniz reached out and took the package.
The assistant left. He turned the package over in his hands and looked at Iz. The wife looked at the package with curiosity and waited for him to open it. Deniz tore open the brown paper and took out a thick sheet on which were pasted letters cut from magazines.
- What is written there? - asked Iz and got up from the chair. Going up to her husband, she looked over his shoulder and read the words and lines of various sizes into her voice: "Be careful. Your jewelry partners are deceiving you. They make personal orders that go past the Sapphire cash register and thus bring you material damage. "What is this dirt? - She was indignant.
"I don't know," Deniz replied thoughtfully.