The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room hummed incessantly, casting a sterile glow over the muted beige walls and plastic chairs. Sanem sat rigidly in one corner, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white, eyes fixed on the monotonous pattern of the linoleum floor, its pattern blurring through her unshed tears. Can leaned against the wall opposite her, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze wandering anywhere but toward Sanem. The silence between them was punctuated only by the occasional shuffling of feet or the distant murmurs of nurses at their station.
Sanem's eyes flickered up, a storm brewing in their depths, but she said nothing, her jaw set in silent defiance. Can shifted uncomfortably, the guilt gnawing at his gut like a relentless pest. He wanted to reach out, to explain, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but the words died in his throat, suffocated by the thick tension.
"Can, how could you do this?" Sanem's eyes, wide and brimming with confusion, locked onto his. "Why did it have to come to this?"
"Sanem," Can began, his voice hoarse, his bandaged hand a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. "I swear to you, I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He looked away from her, the weight of her gaze heavier than the burn on his flesh.
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Can's gaze lingered on the sterile walls, the emotional distance between was like a cold draft in the already frigid waiting room. The vinyl seat beneath him seemed to harden with every second that ticked by on the monotonous wall clock, each 'tick' resonating like an accusation within the hollows of his chest.
Across from them, Emre paced back and forth, his own agitation palpable. Every so often, he would cast a look toward his brother, wanting to say something but stopping short. The tension hung between them like thick fog, tangible and suffocating. Leyla sat close beside Sanem, offering silent support with an arm looped around Sanem's shoulders.
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"Can," Emre began, his voice gentle yet firm, "you can't blame yourself for this."
But he could, and he did. The memory of Yigit's body hitting the floor played on a torturous loop in his mind. Can's hands flexed unconsciously, as if still feeling the impact against Yigit's chest. "I should have controlled my temper," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
