The morning sunlight spills lazily through Aina's window, warming the soft folds of her sheets.
She stirs, blinking groggily at the bright room around her. A small groan escapes her lips as she turns over and reaches for her phone on the nightstand.
11:04 AM.
She stares at the screen, wide-eyed.
"Whoa," she mutters, rubbing her eyes. "I slept like a literal rock."
Unlocking her phone, she finds a flood of notifications from the Exhibition Group Chat.
Curious, she taps it open.
Pictures fill the screen — smiling faces, colorful stalls, trophies, and candid moments from yesterday.
Ms. Hannah had shared a few group photos too, with a heartfelt caption:
"Proud of my stars! 🌟 You all made it a day to remember."
Aina scrolls through them slowly, a soft smile playing on her lips.
The memories feel even sweeter now, with the rush and nerves behind her.
Still hugging her phone, she throws off her blanket and drags herself to the bathroom to freshen up.
The cool splash of water on her face wakes her up properly, washing away the last traces of sleep.
As she's about to step back into her room, something-or rather someone—catches her eye at the door.
Her mother stands there, holding a tray.
A steaming cup of tea.
A plate with a golden, fluffy cheese omelet.
And the kind of smile that could fix any bad day.
Aina's eyes light up instantly.
"For my champion," her mom says warmly.
Aina doesn't even try to hide the grin spreading across her face.
She rushes over, taking the tray carefully with both hands.
"You're the best, Mom," she says, her voice muffled against the edge of the tray.
"And don't you forget it," her mom teases, giving her a gentle pat on the head before walking away.
Aina plops down onto her bed, tucking her legs under her like a little kid.
She takes a sip of the tea first, warm, sweet, perfect, and then digs into the omelet, feeling her heart fill up with a happiness that has nothing to do with trophies or awards.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
Between lazy mornings, helping her mom around the house, and catching up on her favorite shows, Aina barely noticed the time slipping away. It felt good to rest, to let the noise of the exhibition settle into a warm, proud memory.
One afternoon, as she lounged on her bed scrolling through her phone, a soft chime echoed from her notifications.
She glanced down — a LinkedIn notification.
"Rayyan Demir wants to connect with you."
Aina blinked, sitting up straighter.
Her heart did a tiny, confused somersault. She tapped the notification, her thumb hovering for a second.
Rayyan? The name stirred something—not quite fear, not quite excitement. Just… a flicker of something she wasn't ready to name.
Why would he want to connect with me?
Aina stares at the request for a moment longer.
Rayyan Demir. His profile picture is sleek, a sharp navy suit, that slight, unreadable smile. He looks exactly like someone who doesn't send requests without a reason.
She frowns lightly, thumb hovering over the notification. Then, with a quiet sigh, she locks her phone and tosses it to the side.
Not today.
She heads downstairs, where her mom is folding laundry on the couch, the TV murmuring some overly dramatic soap in the background. Without a word, Aina slips onto the rug and starts pairing socks, her fingers moving on instinct. The familiar rhythm settles her.
They laugh at a ridiculous plot twist. Her mom mutters something about the main actor's hair being "too shiny to trust." For a while, the exhibition and the pings from LinkedIn feel far away, like they belong to someone else's world.
Later, when she returns to her room, the sunlight has shifted. Her bed is glowing softly, and the house feels quieter, almost reflective.
She picks up her phone again, just to check the time, but the screen lights up with two new notifications.
Dr. Leena has sent you a connection request.
Ozan Yildiz wants to connect with you.
Aina blinks.
Then sits down.
Rayyan was strange enough, but now his group mate — the one she'd handed the feedback sheet to — and their supervisor?
She stares at the screen, trying to make sense of it. Her thoughts churn slowly, thickly, like honey stirred into tea.
This isn't a coincidence.
Something's up.
Aina bites the inside of her cheek, staring at the three names on her screen.
Rayyan Demir,Dr. Leena,Ozan Yildiz.
She taps on each profile, half-expecting some clue, some reason written between lines of neatly listed experiences and polished recommendations. But everything looks… normal. Professional. Boring, even.
Still, her thumb lingers.
Part of her wants to ignore it again. Just toss the phone aside, pretend it's nothing.
But it doesn't feel like nothing.
It feels like a thread quietly tugging at her.
She exhales — soft, resigned.
And then, one by one, she taps Accept. Rayyan, Dr Leena, Ozan.
Each click feels strangely final. Not dramatic — just… definitive.
She locks her phone and places it gently on the nightstand, fingers resting on the screen for just a second longer than necessary.
It's just LinkedIn, she tells herself. A professional platform. People connect with people. It's not a big deal.
And yet, her brows knit slightly.
Still… how did they find me?
She never dropped her full name anywhere obvious. Not on the forms. Not during the exhibition. At least, she doesn't remember doing that. Maybe Rayyan mentioned her to them? Maybe someone passed her name along?
The thought prickles at the back of her mind — not quite fear, but not quite comfort either.
She rolls onto her side, pulling the sheets over her legs as if that might quiet the noise inside her head.
There's probably a simple explanation.
But even as her eyes drift toward the ceiling again, the questions stay.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just… waiting.