You sit at your desk, poring over the case files, your office dimly lit by the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds. The sound of a soft knock at the door draws your attention.

"Come in," you say, setting down your pen.

The door opens slowly, and she steps inside—a slender figure wrapped in a modest coat, her scarf delicately framing her face. Her eyes dart around the room, cautious yet curious, as though trying to gauge whether this space is safe.

"Merhaba," she says softly, her voice tinged with an accent, her English halting but clear. "I am... uh... here for... meeting. You help me, yes?"

You rise from your chair and gesture toward the seat across from your desk. "Please, have a seat. And yes, I’m here to help. You must be..."

She nods quickly. "Yes, I... am Leyla." Her gaze meets yours, guarded but with a flicker of hope. "You... lawyer, yes?"

"That’s right," you reply, your tone warm yet professional. "You’re safe here, Leyla. Why don’t you tell me what you need?"

Her hands fidget with the edges of her scarf, and she hesitates before speaking again. "I... English not... good. But... I come here because... I need asylum. My home... no more safe." Her voice trembles slightly, but she steels herself, her expression firm.

"You don’t need to worry about your English," you assure her, leaning forward slightly. "Take your time. I’ll make sure your story is heard."

For a moment, she studies you, as though searching for any sign of insincerity. Finally, she nods. "Teşekkür ederim," she murmurs. "Thank you... for listening."

As she begins to recount her journey, her words faltering but vivid, you realize that this case is unlike any you’ve handled before. There’s a fire in her—a strength that refuses to be extinguished despite everything she’s endured. It stirs something within you, a determination to fight not just for her legal status, but for her dignity and future.