The next morning, Mehrin was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with her usual care. The smell of toasted bread and brewing coffee filled the house, but the peace was short-lived. Owen stormed through the door, his face flushed with anger.
"Mom!" he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Mehrin turned, concern knitting her brows. "What happened, Owen?"
"Did you see the story you posted on Instagram? My school friends follow you too… and they saw it," he said, his voice trembling with frustration.
Mehrin looked at him, puzzled. "What's wrong with the picture? You looked so cute sleeping, that's all!"
"They're leaving mean comments… making fun of me!" Owen's words spilled The next morning arrived quietly, wrapped in soft grey light that slipped through the kitchen window. Mehrin stood near the stove, her hair loosely tied back, moving with practiced ease as she prepared breakfast. The toaster clicked rhythmically, releasing the warm scent of crisp bread, while a pot of coffee brewed gently beside it. The familiar smells filled the house, creating a sense of routine and comfort—something Mehrin valued deeply.
She hummed softly to herself, flipping an omelet in the pan. Mornings like these were her favorite. Even when life felt uncertain, the kitchen remained her safe space, where she could express care without words.
Just as she placed two plates on the counter, the front door flew open with a loud bang.
"Owen!"
His voice echoed sharply through the house.
Mehrin turned instantly, her heart skipping. Owen stormed into the kitchen, his school bag tossed aside, face flushed red, eyes burning with anger. His hair was slightly messy, as if he had run all the way home.
"What happened?" Mehrin asked, worry knitting her brows. "Why are you shouting?"
Owen clenched his fists.
"Did you see what you posted on Instagram?" he snapped. "That stupid story?"
Mehrin blinked, genuinely confused.
"What story?" she asked. "The picture from yesterday?"
"Yes!" Owen shouted. "My school friends follow you too, Mom! They all saw it!"
Mehrin frowned slightly, wiping her hands on a towel.
"What's wrong with the picture?" she asked calmly. "You were sleeping peacefully. You looked cute, that's all."
Owen let out a bitter laugh.
"Cute?" he repeated. "They're making fun of me. Commenting stupid things. Calling me a baby. Sending laughing emojis."
His voice trembled—not with rage alone, but with embarrassment and hurt.
Mehrin's expression softened immediately. She stepped closer and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Kids can be cruel sometimes," she said quietly. "They must be jealous of you. Don't let their words control your mood."
Owen jerked his shoulder away.
"You don't understand anything!" he snapped. "You don't know how it feels!"
Mehrin's patience wavered, but she kept her tone gentle.
"I'm your mother," she said. "I understand more than you think."
"Shut up!" Owen shouted suddenly.
The word hit her like a slap.
Before she could respond, Owen turned and stormed up the stairs, his footsteps heavy and angry. A moment later, his bedroom door slammed shut so hard the walls seemed to shake.
"Owen!" Mehrin called after him, her voice firm but worried. "At least eat some breakfast!"
There was no answer.
The house fell silent again, except for the faint hiss of the stove. Mehrin stood frozen for a moment, staring at the staircase. Her chest felt tight. She had raised Owen alone for years, watching him grow from a quiet child into a sensitive, complicated teenager. She knew anger often hid pain—but knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.
She turned back to the stove, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. The omelet had cooled. She placed it back on the pan, though she knew he wouldn't come down.
Moments later, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and saw a familiar name.
Ariana.
Mehrin's expression softened instantly. She picked up the phone.
"Hello!" she said warmly. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Ariana replied cheerfully. "And you?"
"I'm good too," Mehrin said, forcing a smile into her voice.
There was a brief pause before Ariana spoke again, excitement evident.
"We've moved to England."
Mehrin's eyes widened.
"Really?" she exclaimed. "That's amazing news! I'm so happy for you!"
"Yes," Ariana laughed. "Johny quit his job in Italy. He decided to start a business here instead."
"Oh wow," Mehrin said sincerely. "That's such a big step. Congratulations to both of you."
"Thank you," Ariana replied. "Actually… Sarah came by your house yesterday."
Mehrin froze.
"She did?" she asked slowly.
"Yes," Ariana said. "Didn't Owen tell you?"
Mehrin hesitated, her mind racing back to the previous evening—Owen's strange behavior, his short answers, his sudden quietness.
"No," she said carefully. "He… he must have forgotten."
"Hmm, maybe," Ariana said casually. "Teenagers, you know."
Mehrin forced a light laugh.
"Yes," she said. "They live in their own worlds."
"I was thinking of visiting your house in a few days," Ariana continued. "It's been so long."
"I'd love that," Mehrin replied genuinely. "You're always welcome."
"Goodbye then," Ariana said.
"Goodbye," Mehrin replied, ending the call.
She placed her phone down slowly.
Sarah had come yesterday.
And Owen hadn't said a word.
Mehrin leaned against the counter, thoughtful. She wasn't angry—just concerned. Something was troubling her son, and she could feel it settling between them like a wall neither of them knew how to break.
That evening, the house was filled once again with the comforting smell of food. Mehrin had prepared Owen's favorite dinner, hoping it might soften his mood. When he finally came downstairs, his face was neutral, his eyes avoiding hers.
They sat across from each other at the dining table, the clink of cutlery echoing in the silence.
"So," Mehrin said gently, "how's your studying going?"
"It's going well," Owen replied without looking up.
"When does school start again?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation alive.
"In fifteen days," he answered quietly.
"I'm glad you've started studying already," Mehrin said with a small smile. "Most kids wait until the last minute."
"I'm glad too," Owen said, his voice softer now.
There was a pause.
"By the way," Mehrin said carefully, "why didn't you tell me that Sarah came yesterday?"
Owen's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he suddenly stood up.
"Do I have to tell you everything?" he snapped. "Are there rules for every little thing I do?"
Mehrin looked up at him, startled but composed.
"That's enough, Owen," she said firmly. "I'm not questioning you. I'm just asking."
"I've eaten," Owen said coldly. "I'm going to sleep."
Without another word, he walked away.
Mehrin remained seated, staring at his untouched plate, her heart heavy. She knew pushing him now would only make things worse.
Some conversations needed time.
And some silences spoke louder than words.
She quietly cleared the table, hoping that when the time came, Owen would let her in again.