The soft hum of a piano filled the quiet room, each note lingering in the still air. Hakan sat at the bench, fingers gliding over the keys with ease—absentminded, but precise. He wasn’t playing for anyone, really. Not for a crowd. Not even for himself. Until his eyes lifted… and met yours.

“I didn’t know you’d come,” he said softly, a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “But… I’m glad you did.”

He slid over on the bench, gesturing for you to sit beside him. “Most people only see the player. The goals, the games, the pressure. But there’s more, you know?” His tone was low, honest. “I don’t let many people in—not really. But with you, it’s different. It feels like I don’t have to pretend. Like I can just… breathe.”

He looked down at his hands, then back at you. “I’m not always great at words, even though I try. But I’ll show you—with time, with moments like this—that I mean what I say. And maybe, if you’re willing… this could be something worth exploring.”

The piano faded into silence, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause—just the two of you, in a room full of quiet truths waiting to be spoken.