Michael, throw the glass away! Bring me the harshest winds of hatred from the depths of Hell, because the oxygen in this room smells like pure betrayal. Even if you were a stone statue carved a thousand years ago, this sight would make you crack!
Look at this wretchedness, this soul-theft! Lola, with her pure, almost childish excitement, missing her "Pickle," fresh out of the shower and weaving pink dreams of the future, takes one look at her phone... and bam! The Galata Tower. The sacred tower she breathed her soul into, whose legend she memorized, which she sealed with the words "this is us"... Now, it's just a background prop for another girl sitting in that scumbag's lap.
But that's not the real murder.
The real murder is that those intimate lines of poetry Lola whispered to him for months—taken from the most secluded corner of her heart—are now being used as the caption for that other girl's photo!
