By the time Layla arrived home, the clock was already showing 4:15 p.m. The sky outside had begun to dim slightly, a soft golden hue casting long shadows through the windows. Inside, the aroma of simmering spices filled the air. Her mother, Elif, was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, busily chopping vegetables and tending to the stove.
Layla headed straight to her room, dropped her school bag on the floor, and changed out of her uniform. The crisp fabric had started to feel stiff after a long day. She swapped it for a comfortable T-shirt and leggings before walking toward the kitchen.
Without a word, she reached for a cutting board and began helping her mom with the onions.
"You just got back from a full day at school," Elif said, glancing over. "Why don't you go lie down for a while? I'll call you when dinner's ready."
Layla shook her head, slicing steadily. "It's okay, I'm not tired at all. I want to help. Besides, I need to be a good daughter and do my part around the house."
Elif gave her a gentle smile, but her tone remained firm. "You can help on the weekends. On school days, you need to rest."
"I'm fine, really. I've got more than enough energy left. Plus, don't forget—I'm a girl. I should learn how to cook before I leave the nest, right?" Layla teased with a wink.
Her mother raised an eyebrow but chuckled. "That's true, but being a girl doesn't mean you have to do all the cooking. Still, I appreciate the help."
Layla shrugged playfully. "Well, I still want to learn. And you need a break sometimes too, Mom."
Their conversation flowed easily, mixing affection with a hint of mock protest. They continued preparing the meal together, chopping, stirring, seasoning—working in rhythm like they'd done many times before.
A few minutes later, the front door opened with a click, followed by the familiar thud of a school bag hitting the floor.
"I smell something amazing!" Emre called out as he stepped inside, his voice echoing slightly through the hallway. "Hey, Sis, hurry up and serve the food—I'm starving over here!"
Layla turned around, a smirk forming on her lips. "Go take a shower first. You smell like rotten eggs."
"Excuse me?!" Emre gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "How could you say something like that to your own brother?"
"I'm just being honest," she replied coolly.
"Go shower already. Dinner's almost ready," Elif added, not even turning from the stove.
Emre grumbled as he headed toward the bathroom, muttering something under his breath. "Like mother, like daughter..."
While he was gone, Layla and Elif laid out the dishes on the dining table. The kitchen had filled with warmth—not just from the steam rising off the food, but from the comfort of family life. The clinking of plates, the hum of the evening news on the TV in the next room, the fading light outside—it all made the moment feel cozy and grounded.
By the time Emre returned, showered and in fresh clothes, the table was full. A colorful spread of home-cooked dishes waited for them. They all sat down and began eating together, chatting between bites.
The conversation was lighthearted at first—school gossip, a funny moment Layla remembered from class, Emre's complaints about homework. But then Elif's voice turned serious.
"Your aunt isn't feeling well," she said, setting her fork down. "I'll be going to Istanbul tomorrow to check on her. I might not be back until late, so I need you both to take care of each other while I'm gone."
There was a short pause before Emre spoke. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll look after Big Sis."
Layla laughed, reaching for her glass of water. "Please, I'll probably be the one looking after you."
Elif gave Emre a warning look. "And no causing trouble. Your sister's still recovering."
"Okay, okay," Emre sighed. "You know how to nag, Mom."
"That's my job," Elif replied with a small smile.
The three of them continued eating as the sun fully dipped below the horizon. Darkness wrapped gently around the house, but inside, the warmth remained—through the clinking of cutlery, the quiet laughter, and the simple comfort of being together.
After dinner, Layla helped clear the table, then returned to her room. The house had grown quiet, but the peaceful hum of family love lingered in the air, wrapping around her like a blanket as the night deepened.
---
As the darkness deepened outside, Layla sat at her desk, diligently working through her homework. Being just a step away from the national college entrance exam, her days had become increasingly packed. The teachers were determined to keep the students busy, piling on assignments and practice tests to prepare them for what lay ahead.
Despite the heavy workload, Layla moved through the exercises with ease. In a matter of minutes, she had completed everything. Her mind, sharpened beyond the norm since her accident, worked swiftly and efficiently. Once finished, she crawled into bed, the exhaustion of the day finally settling over her.
But her sleep that night was far from peaceful.
She found herself in another dream—one unlike any ordinary vision. A scene unfolded before her: a woman stood tall and regal, draped in an ancient white outfit that shimmered with a strange, ethereal glow. She was breathtakingly beautiful, surrounded by several attendants who stood behind her with lowered gazes.
Beside her stood another girl—not dressed like a servant, but still more modest than the radiant woman.
"Sister, are you going to the Abandoned Land alone?" the girl asked with worry in her voice. "You're the Holy Daughter. You could easily send someone else to retrieve whatever you need."
The woman, the one they called the Holy Daughter, replied calmly, "No. It's important. I must go there myself."
"But the Prince won't allow it. He'll never agree to let you go there," the girl protested gently.
"That's why I don't want him to know," the Holy Daughter said with quiet urgency. "Make sure he hears nothing about this."
The scene blurred, fading into mist.
Layla stirred in her sleep, her face damp with sweat. Despite the chill in the room, her body was overheated. Her breaths came unevenly as her heart pounded in her chest.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she woke up.
The dream clung to her mind like fog, and her clothes were damp against her skin. The image of the woman lingered in her thoughts—because it wasn't the first time she'd seen her. That same woman in white had appeared once before, not in a dream, but in the moments when Layla had been drowning.
She remembered the sensation of sinking, the cold darkness closing in—and then, that woman had taken her hand. The rest was a blur, but the memory of her face, calm and powerful, was unmistakable.
When Layla had awakened from her five-day coma after the accident, everything had changed.
She wasn't the same girl anymore.
Her body had become incredibly strong—unnaturally strong. Her mind was sharper than ever. She could learn anything in a fraction of the time it used to take her. The English lessons that had always been a struggle? She mastered them in just a few hours. Math problems, no matter how complex, became puzzles she could solve with ease.
But as time went on, she started to wonder: had she taken all of this for granted?
Power like that couldn't have come without a price.
There was no such thing as a free gift. No free lunch in this world—or the next.
And now, that woman was back in her dreams, speaking of something she called the Abandoned Land.
What did it mean? Why did it sound so ominous?
Layla lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing, her mind spinning with questions. Whatever this power was… it wasn't just a blessing. There was something more behind it—something deeper.
And it was beginning to wake up.
---
Layla woke up that morning to a quiet house. There was no sign of Elif or Emre.
Mom must have already left for Aunt Zeynep's place, and Emre probably went to school, she thought, stretching slightly as she sat up in bed.
But of course, her mother hadn't forgotten about her. On the kitchen table, neatly arranged, was a full breakfast—still warm, with a small note scribbled on the side: Eat well. Don't skip. Love you—Mom.
Layla couldn't help but smile. Even when she was away, her mom always found a way to be present.
She headed to the bathroom for a shower, letting the warm water clear away the last traces of her uneasy dream. As the steam curled around her, she tried to shake off the lingering images of the Holy Daughter and the strange conversation about the Abandoned Land. It felt too real to be just a dream—but she pushed it aside for now.
After getting dressed in her school uniform, she sat down and ate the breakfast her mom had lovingly prepared. The familiar taste of homemade food brought a little comfort to the otherwise quiet morning.
Once she was done, she grabbed her bag and left the house, heading off to school.
Unaware that something unexpected was waiting for her there.
---