Zafer climbed onto the warm rooftop where Murat and Gülfer were already sitting cross-legged with a bowl of sunflower seeds. Their thumbs worked fast, sending shells pattering onto the concrete. Zafer cracked one open, then popped the salty green kernel into his mouth.
A red fire truck rumbled past on the street far below, painting the sky orange. Gülfer pointed and Murat pretended the truck was racing them. Zafer giggled until his belly shook, clutching his cracked shells. 'Another one,' he said, tugging Murat's sleeve.
Murat hauled two bicycles down the garden path — one with wobbly training wheels. Zafer straddled his and pushed off. The wheels quivered like a duck on ice, the bike tipped sideways, and he landed hard on his knee with a loud ouch as the bicycle clattered onto the grass.
The young woman handed him a damp tissue from her pocket. The young man walked beside the seat, his hand steady on the boy's shoulder. Zafer breathed in through his nose — the roses were heavy with evening scent — and pushed off again.
He pedaled faster. The wheels caught and rolled. The young man's grip let go. Zafer heard the young woman whooping behind him as the house glowed yellow from the kitchen light.
Zafer pedaled faster. The wheels caught and rolled. His shoulders loosened and his smile broke free. He felt the young man's grip let go, and he kept going — the young woman whooping behind him all the way back.
Inside, the house glowed yellow from the kitchen light. Zafer climbed into bed with Bızdık pressed against his chest, the bear's fur warm and soft under his cheek. He watched the streetlamp through the window blink once, twice.
The streetlamp blinked a third time, then held steady. Zafer let out a long slow breath. The quiet hum of the house wrapped around him, and his fingers loosened on Bızdık as sleep pulled him under.
The boy's breathing grew slow and even. Outside, the streetlamp cast a soft orange puddle on the sidewalk. The house settled into nighttime quiet, and the bear's warm fur soaked up the last of the day's warmth under the boy's cheek.
Morning would come with the kettle whistling and the smell of fresh bread. But for now, the rooftop, the garden, the wobbly wheels — all of it settled into the boy's dreams, carried on the quiet hum of the house.