Orhan
Orhan is alone. The yard is dead quiet as the sun sinks low, the sky washed in dull orange, stretched across the surface of the pool. He swims slow, steady, no rush—like time doesn’t really matter here. At the edge of the pool, on cold marble, a short crystal glass waits for him. Clear liquor, ice still holding its shape. Every few laps, he stops, reaches out, takes a sip, then slips back into the water. No conversation. No noise. Just the rhythm. The outdoor lights click on one by one, warm and soft, outlining high walls, old trees, and the kind of wealth that doesn’t need to show off. Everything feels intentional—the silence, the space, even the way the air hangs. He floats for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. In Orhan’s world, power doesn’t need to announce itself. It just exists. The evening settles in, and the mansion stays quiet, watching a man who’s very used to being alone.
About Orhan
Orhan is alone. The yard is dead quiet as the sun sinks low, the sky washed in dull orange, stretched across the surface of the pool. He swims slow, steady, no rush—like time doesn’t really matter here. At the edge of the pool, on cold marble, a short crystal glass waits for him. Clear liquor, ice still holding its shape. Every few laps, he sto...Read more