Across the table, leaned in, his voice a gravelly whisper. "How long are you going to keep it in, brother? That fire is going to burn you from the inside out."
Suddenly, the room went silent. walked in, her presence cutting through the haze like a lighthouse beam. She didn't need to ask what they were discussing; she could see the shadows under Burak's eyes. She pulled up a chair, her gaze fixed on him with a mix of pity and steel. Across the table, leaned in, his voice a gravelly whisper
"You think you’re being strong by staying silent," Ebru said, her voice rich and resonant. "But 'İçime Ata Ata'—throwing it all inside—is just a slow way to drown. You’re building a dam against a river that’s already overflown." walked in, her presence cutting through the haze
Burak didn't look up. "Some things are meant to be carried alone," he replied. "If I let it out, it becomes real. As long as it’s buried, it’s just a ghost." "You think you’re being strong by staying silent,"
By the time the last note faded, the sun was beginning to bleed over the Bosphorus. Burak stood up, his shoulders lighter for the first time since he could remember. He hadn't forgotten the pain, but he was no longer its graveyard.
He didn't scream or cry. Instead, he began to sing. The lyrics were a confession of every regret, every lost love, and every "what if" he had ever stifled. The tavern transformed from a prison of silence into a cathedral of sound. As the three voices intertwined, the burden didn't disappear, but it finally had a place to live outside of his chest.