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Aisha was in great shock, what was happening? Why had this idiot attacked her? Both men staggered to their feet; the Kurd threw a high kick, the sole of his foot landing directly on the other man's stomach, Aisha could actually guess from his clothes that he was a Kurdish militiaman. The Arab leaned his back against the terrace wall to avoid falling when he curled up, the Kurd disappeared; the blood that was dripping from Aisha's torn lip was terrifying. "I'm fine, you?" she cried. The man touched her cheek and winced. "I've had worse days than this," he said. He shifted his gaze to Aisha's sleeve, which was soaked with blood. ... He tried to calm Ayse by lifting her off the ground, he said the wound was not deep, he thought if I took her straight to the hospital this would be solved faster, so he gave up calling the ambulance. Ayse surrendered herself to the man's arms, the man's scent was strangely reassuring, it was probably a real man's scent mixed with sweat and aftershave, as the man carried her in his arms along the terrace; Ayse watched the images of the surprised waiters and curious hotel guests. "This is so embarrassing," she complained, everyone is looking at me. "I'm fine, put me down." "You're going to faint," the man said. I have never fainted in my life. "For a first date, this is not very romantic," the man said, and he put her in the waiting taxi, and Ayse curled up in the back seat like a wounded animal. When they arrived at the hospital, the emergency room doctor did not want to administer anesthesia; Ayse did not want to scream either, she clenched her teeth as needles were repeatedly inserted into her bent arm and asked the man to hold her hand; if she hadn't played the tough woman and been so coy about going out with the man; she would have been holding his hand right now. Even now, as she fought to keep tears from flowing from her eyes in the face of pain; she wanted a man to hold her hand very much. She refused to admit to herself how much she needed it, yet it would have been nice. She still didn't know, she said to herself, I suspect he has tendencies towards me, he takes care of me like a baby and this arouses me very much. From here, the doctor says to the nurse, pass the needle from that side; she put the last stitches. He tied it with surgical thread and turned to Ayse: "See?" he said it wasn't that bad. -Can we say we're friends now?" said the man. Ayse didn't comment, she noticed a strange sparkle in his eyes. A sudden interest had settled in the man's gaze. The woman wondered the answer to this question, she wondered the reason for it. The man said "Sami" in a casual manner. "My name is Muhammed Sami." "That's like a name I remember from the war," said Ayse. She turned her eyes away. There was a pilot named Muhammed Sami. He was my friend, her father had said. He fought for Assad. When she remembered what her father said, are we related? She asked. Ayşe suddenly jumped with joy. Yes, my father knew you. "You're not kidding, are you? Are you really the daughter of my namesake Muhammed Sami? I've heard stories about him." "Is there anyone who hasn't heard? He was a living legend," Ayşe said. "Your old man landed a Russian fighter jet; its engine was smoking, its fuel was out, and its fuselage was so badly damaged that you could almost see the other side from one side. He landed the plane on the runway and then got out; he checked the landing gear, and if he had been in his place, another pilot would have dropped to his knees and kissed the ground; but your father leaned against the nearby tree and took a short nap. There was something strange beyond his talking about his father; the man reminded him of his father in a strange, indescribable way. As Ayşe thought about these, she felt like the journey had been quite long. When they entered Ayşe's room upstairs; the woman was still in his arms. The man sat her down on her bed and gently pushed the hair that had fallen from her face back. - - Do you have any painkillers? - There's some in the bathroom. He said, and tried to get up. Can I have some? No You stay where you are. The man went to the bathroom. A glass He returned with water and an aspirin box. Despite his pain, these were romantic moments for him. He knew the man was watching him; he felt safe and relaxed. As he swallowed the medicine, he was aware that he was examining him. -What are you looking for? The man was rummaging through the mini fridge in the room. The man showed him a bottle of whiskey he found. -I found what I was looking for, the man said. He returned, opened the lid. He put it in Ayse's hand. -Liquid anesthesia, this is an old-fashioned remedy, it works. -I don't like old things. -You don't have to like it; the medicine doesn't have to taste good by nature, Ayse. He managed to take a sip, the whiskey burned his throat from top to bottom. -Thank you. The man muttered. The man started walking around as if to ask a question. He was examining the luxurious items and the expensive view; The sliding glass door opened onto the balcony, and the sea engines that cut through the waters of the Euphrates River flowing just below like knives.