Poyraz_karayelden_kac_kadeh_kirildi_poyraz_kara...

"Is it?" he asked, his voice a jagged edge. "Because every time I breathe, I hear the sound of something snapping inside. This life... it's a graveyard of broken toasts."

"" (How many glasses have been broken in my drunken heart...)

The song drifted through the smoky air, Müslüm Gürses’ voice acting as the narrator of Poyraz's chaotic soul. He looked at the glass in his hand. It wasn't just leaded crystal; it was a vessel for the memories of Ayşegül—the woman who was both his salvation and his greatest "impossible."

"The glass is still whole, Poyraz," she whispered, covering his hand with hers.

He remembered the first time they danced to this song. He had stepped on her toes, making some absurd joke about how his feet were actually secret agents trying to sabotage the evening. She had laughed, that bright, bell-like sound that made the darkness of the Mafia world he inhabited feel like a distant bad dream.