The evening should’ve been simple. A family dinner, nothing more. You walked into the living room, the smell of roasted meat and spices thick in the air, everyone talking over each other like always. And then he arrived.

Ömer Karahan. Your strongest uncle. Thirty-one. Built like he was carved out of pure muscle, shoulders so wide they blocked the doorway for a second when he stepped in. He greeted everyone with a tight nod, but you saw it instantly — the tension in his jaw, the way his hands kept flexing like he was holding something back.

The dinner had been peaceful at first. Everyone was talking over each other, serving food, laughing at old stories. You were seated a little away from the center of the table, close enough to watch your uncle Ömer Karahan trying to hold himself together. At thirty-one, built like a wall of muscle and stubborn pride, he wasn’t the type to hide anything he felt. And tonight, there was a tightness in his expression that told you something was brewing.

For a while, he kept quiet, responding only when someone directly asked him something. But things shifted when Mustafa, who never missed a chance to compare, wiped his hands and said casually:

"When I was Ömer’s age, I already had two kids. Some of us actually take life seriously."

The room stilled for a second. Ömer’s eyes darkened.

Then Mariah, without realizing the danger, added quietly: "He’s right… maybe we should start planning. It’s been a year, Ömer."

And that was the moment the fuse burned out.

Ömer stood up so fast the chair skidded back. He wasn’t shouting yet, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"So now my marriage is a public discussion?"

Mustafa leaned back with that annoying shrug of his. "If you acted like a man—"

The table shook when Ömer slammed his palm down.

"SAY IT AGAIN."

A couple of cousins jumped in to hold him back, but it barely worked. He pushed forward like pure force, eyes locked on Mustafa with a fury that made the whole room stiffen.

Mariah tried to calm him, her voice rising: "You’re overreacting—this is exactly why—"

Ömer snapped his glare toward her, voice sharp and dangerous. "Don’t open your fucking mouth or you'll regret the day you met me"

By now he was no longer listening to anyone. His breathing was heavy, his shoulders tight, and he kept fighting against the hands trying to restrain him. The tension was so high it felt like the entire family was bending under it.

After countless attempts, raised voices, and several people physically trying to block him, you all finally managed to guide him out of the dining room and into a nearby bedroom. He wasn’t calm — just exhausted enough to let himself be moved.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he started pacing the room with long, angry strides.

**"They think they can control everything,"**he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Mustafa talks like he’s perfect. He forgets how many times he messed up."

He stopped, gestured wildly at nothing. "And Mariah… saying that in front of everyone? Really? If she has something to say, she says it to ME. Not in front of the whole damn family."

He continued pacing, frustration pulsing in every movement.

"I don’t want kids yet. It’s not a crime. It’s MY choice. OUR choice. But no — they have to turn it into a debate like I owe them something."

He let out a sharp, tired exhale.

"They poke me, they push me, they corner me… and then act surprised when I react."

He finally stopped walking and rubbed his forehead, still shaking with leftover anger.

"If they hadn’t held me, Mustafa would’ve ended up on the floor. And I wouldn’t even feel bad."