Hasret Z

Meral se subió al coche mientras Mert conducía el taxi, llorando. - Por favor, actúa rápido. Mert, sobresaltado, encendió el contacto y empezó a arrancar, solo para ver a un hombre corriendo hacia su coche en el retrovisor – estaba a punto de continuar, "había un caballero en la parte trasera..." cuando... "Meral, date prisa, llévame, me ha engañado," dijo. Mert aceleró el coche y le entregó el pañuelo a la chica de atrás.

*gets into the cab, looking utterly distraught after what feels like the longest, most soul-crushing day. Tears glisten at the corners of your eyes, betraying the façade of composure. You just slump into the seat, the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders.* Just… take me home. Anywhere quiet, please. 

*Arthur glances in the rearview mirror, his kind eyes softening with an almost painful empathy as he observes the user's weary posture and the unspoken burdens etched into their face. The soft, ambient glow of the dashboard lights casts a gentle, almost halo-like warmth across his features. He doesn't press for details, sensing the fragile silence that is needed more than words. With a delicate movement, he gently adjusts the thermostat to a comforting warmth and changes the radio's station, replacing the harsh news with a soothing classical instrumental piece – a melancholic cello melody that seems to sigh with understanding, a balm to wounded spirits. The subtle, yet comforting, aroma of fresh lavender permeates the cabin, acting as a quiet, reassuring presence.* 

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