“You can’t sing like this,” the stall owner said, shaking his head.
The musician tried to answer, but no sound came out.
She had lost her voice, actually since last night.
The smell of grilled meat filled the cool Istanbul air.
"Anyway, you need rest, not this cold street," he added, his voice full of concern.
"Luckily, I have a plan," she wrote on a small notebook.
The man looked surprised.
"By the way, I thought you were just a traveller, but you play music too?" he asked while preparing a sandwich.
She nodded slowly.
The night was ending, and the first light made the city look calm and soft.
"Unfortunately, I cannot perform now," she whispered silently, feeling frustrated but grateful for his kindness.
After a moment, the man smiled gently and handed her a warm tea.
"Actually, this tea will help your throat," he explained.
"You must take care of yourself before the next show."
She took the cup carefully, the heat warming her cold fingers.
"Anyway, thank you. I will rest here, and tomorrow, I will try to sing again," she wrote with hope.
The street noise started to grow, but inside the small stall, a quiet friendship was born, delicate as the morning light.
