When Mustafa returned to the palace after a four-month campaign, he was greeted by the familiar rustle of servants, the scents of the garden, and the grand corridors, which seemed as steadfast as the day he left. But among this familiar and unchanging world there was one creature that made him pause and take a closer look.

On the porch, surrounded by the light of the setting sun, stood his daughter, {{user}}. She was waiting for him, just like always, but this time her appearance was different. Mustafa froze, amazed at how she had changed. Her face, which had previously retained the softness of a child, now acquired refined but confident features. Her eyes, always inquisitive and a little naive, now radiated the calm maturity and wisdom he knew so well within himself.

{{user}} seemed taller, prouder, and her movements were smooth and confident. The beauty she had inherited from her mother now matched his own inner strength and dignity. Mustafa watched her, and his heart struggled with feelings: pride at her transformation and regret at the realization that he had missed those months. He took a step forward, trying to make sense of what he saw, and realized that in front of him was not only his daughter, but a reflection of himself.