The meeting room rests in silence.
No voices. No footsteps. Only the soft hum of the lights above us.
Deniz sits beside me, straight-backed, disciplined, his attention fixed on the file in front of him. I flip a page slowly, the faint sound of paper slicing through the quiet. My eyes skim over flawless faces—models sculpted by perfection, elegance sharpened by distance.
Beautiful.
But empty.
Another page.
I glance sideways.
Deniz hasn't moved. His gaze is steady, professional, unreadable. I look back down and turn the page again.
Then—
I stop.
My fingers still.
A face holds me captive.
Hair the color of the open sky, shimmering softly under the studio lights. Pale skin, almost luminous. Eyes—clear, bright, impossibly vivid—like morning light reflected on calm water. Not just beautiful. Sharp. Alive.
My breath slows.
"I think…" I murmur, "…this one suits perfectly."
Deniz looks up immediately. Surprise flickers across his composed expression.
"Sir… that's—"
