Leyla's trembling fingers fumbled for her phone as she held Ozan's face with the other hand. Blood soaked into her clothes, but she didn't care.
Her heart was beating so wildly, it felt like it might burst from her chest.
"Hello?! Ambulance! Please! Fast! He's shot—please hurry!" she screamed into the phone, her voice almost unrecognizable even to herself.
Within minutes that felt like hours, paramedics stormed in. They rushed to Ozan, checking his pulse and lifting him onto the stretcher. Leyla tried to follow, but one of them held her back gently.
"Miss, please, let us handle him. We need space," they insisted.
Leyla stood there, frozen, tears pouring down her cheeks, her breathing ragged. Her entire body shook as she watched them wheel Ozan away.
She ran after them, her bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor.
When they reached the hospital, Ozan was immediately rushed into surgery.
Leyla collapsed into a chair in the waiting area, her hands covering her face. Her tears wouldn't stop. Her eyes turned red and swollen, her cheeks hot and sticky from crying nonstop.
She pressed her palms together, silently praying, mumbling desperate pleas into the empty hallway.
"Please, Allah… don't take him away from me… not him… not now…"
For the first time, every memory came crashing down at once—his obsessive gaze, his possessive touches, his warmth when he held her, the way he smirked just for her…
She realized the weight of it all.
The man she said she hated… the man she kept pushing away… he had jumped in front of a bullet for her.
And in that crushing, suffocating moment, she understood.
She didn't want to lose him.
She loved him.
The realization tore through her chest, raw and unstoppable.
"Please… come back to me…" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob as she hugged her knees, trembling violently.
Hours passed, but to Leyla it felt like a lifetime.
Finally, the doctor stepped out. Leyla jumped to her feet, her heart stuck in her throat.