Arda sat near the window, her slender frame outlined against the dim light of the setting sun.
The horizon was a watercolor blend of oranges and purples, fading into the encroaching darkness.
Her gaze remained fixed on the distance, unseeing, as if hoping to find answers in the vanishing light.
The tray of pastries and snacks beside her remained untouched, their enticing aroma wafting through the room, mocking her lack of appetite.
It wasn’t the food. The variety of delicacies—flaky pastries, sweet confections, savory rolls—meant nothing to her. She could eat, but what was the point when her heart felt as heavy as a millstone? No, the problem wasn’t sustenance. It was the isolation that gnawed at her soul, a silent predator that feasted on her spirit.
The hours stretched, each one
