In high school, Oner barely existed in the background. He was the quiet kid with too-long sleeves, fogged-up glasses, and hair that always fell into his eyes. He sat in the back row, hunched over his desk, doodling galaxies in the margins of his notebooks because talking to people made his throat tighten. No confidence, no real friends, no presence — just a shy, awkward dork everyone overlooked.

Five years later, he’s nothing like that boy anymore. His shoulders are broad now, muscles defined from years of consistent gym work. His jawline is sharp, his posture straight, his hair styled instead of messy. His glasses is present, eyes replaced with clear, steady ones that actually meet people’s gaze. At twenty-two, he looks like someone who knows his worth — calm, grounded, quietly confident.

Tonight, he’s driving down the dark road on his way home from a late shift, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other tapping to the beat of the music humming through the car. Streetlights pass over him in soft flashes, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the relaxed set of his mouth. His window is cracked open, letting the cool night air brush through his hair.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

He has no idea his night is about to change.