She walked over to Kerem’s table. The woman with her hand on his arm looked up, surprised. Kerem turned, his eyes meeting Derin’s. The noise of the café, the chatter of the crowd, and even the music seemed to fade into a low hum. All Derin could see were his familiar green eyes.

A woman at his table leaned in closer to whisper something, placing a hand lightly on his arm. A sharp, burning sensation flared in Derin’s chest. It wasn't just simple jealousy; it was a profound, sudden realization. Kerem wasn't just a part of her life. He was her heart.

"What is it, Derin? You look like you're about to give a manifesto," Kerem teased gently, though his eyes held a trace of nervous anticipation.

"I am," she said. "I've been scared for a long time, Kerem. Scared of losing our friendship, scared of saying the wrong thing. But watching you up there tonight, seeing other people look at you... I realized I can't be just your friend anymore."

Derin listened to the lyrics about a love so deep it feels like ownership of the soul—not out of possessiveness, but out of absolute certainty. The song seemed to voice everything she had been too afraid to say out loud. Why was she holding back? Life was too short to let the perfect person slip away because of fear.