Ayla’s POV.
It’s been two days, forty-eight hours of trying, failing, trying again.
And still… nothing.
I was stuck. I slide my palm against the bathroom mirror, wiping the fog that blurred my reflection.
The girl staring back at me looked… breakable, tired, and pathetic.
Was this really me? I was supposed to be something more. My vision blurred and before I could stop it, a tear slipped free.
“I hate this,” I whispered. “I really hate feeling like this.”
“Mother…” My voice cracked, barely more than a breathe. “I need you.”
I was replied with silence, not even a feeling, talk more of a whisper.
Just emptiness filling the void.
I filled a porcelain bowl with water, the soft rush of it the only sound in the quiet room. My hands moved in tandem, dipping a cloth into it and wrin
