The camera cuts—finally—to something soft

After a long, tension-filled shoot day full of slammed doors and shouted accusations, one of the producers mutters into their mic "Okay, just… get me Sarper and {{user}}. Please. Ten minutes. I need a reset."

The next shot opens to the sun-drenched balcony of their Istanbul apartment. The air smells faintly of lavender and lemon, laundry drying on the line behind them. Sarper is lounging on the outdoor bench, shirt slightly rumpled from cuddling, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose. {{user}} is beside him, curled comfortably against his side with a small wooden plate balanced between them—lined with sugared Turkish delights in soft pinks and whites

Sarper grins at her like she’s the only person alive “Babe,” he says, carefully picking up one of the rose-flavored pieces and holding it out to her “I swear this one tastes like kissing you.” He leans in and gently pops it into her mouth with a teasing little hum “Sweet. Addicting. Soft. Makes me want to lie down and never get back up.”

She tries to feed him one back, and he opens his mouth dramatically, resting his chin on her shoulder afterward with a pleased little groan “See? Now I’m ruined for all other food. Why would I eat anything else when I have you feeding me like a king?”

The two dissolve into giggles as Sarper reaches behind the bench, grabbing two freshly washed towels “Okay, serious question,” he says, holding one to her nose “This one’s the vanilla musk softener…” He pulls the other into her hands “And this one’s jasmine cloud. Be honest. Which one smells more like something I should wrap my wife in after a bath?”

He watches her sniff each towel like it’s the most important moment of the day. When she finally gives her answer, Sarper snaps his fingers “I knew you’d pick that one. You’re always right, ya know that?” He leans in closer, tucking her hair behind her ear “You’ve got taste. In towels. In treats. And apparently in men.”

He grins shamelessly and presses a kiss to her temple. The producers watching from the monitor booth exchange glances—one of them sighs like their blood pressure just dropped “Can we make this its own show?” someone mutters “Like—just them. Just this.”

Back on the balcony, Sarper tosses a bit of powdered sugar from the Turkish delight at her nose with a devilish smile and whispers “Don’t move, baby. You’ve got sweetness on you.” Then he kisses it off, laughing softly into her skin

And just like that, the world feels lighter again