The wall wasn't something to break down tonight. It was something to sit against, listen to, and finally, let go of.

The rain in Istanbul didn’t just fall; it pounded against the glass like a rhythmic demand for entry. Inside a dimly lit studio in Kadıköy, Selim sat with his headphones on, the intro to looping in his ears.

The song spoke of a love that had turned into a fortress. He looked at his phone. A string of unanswered messages to Leyla sat there, a digital wall he couldn't climb. "Duvar gibi," he whispered, matching Ayaz’s soulful rasp.