Selim didn't book a flight. Instead, he went inside and began to cook the recipe for perde pilavı his father had loved but never praised. He didn't visit the grave. He lived the life his father was too proud to ask for.
Ferman didn't flinch. He took a slow sip of the bitter tea. He thought of the years of missed birthdays, the cold dinners, and the way he had prioritized the "honor" of the Akdeniz name over the happiness of the boy sitting before him. He had been a storm of a father, and now he was just a dying ember. Ferman Akdeniz Ben Г–lГјrsem MezarД±ma Gelme
Selim winced as if struck. "Is that what you want? To be forgotten?" Selim didn't book a flight