As the song reached its peak, Arif leaned into the mic, his eyes scanning the room as if he knew every secret hidden in the shadows. He spoke one of his famous "live" interjections—a hallmark of his tavern style—reminding the listeners that life is short and a heart in doubt is a heart in pain.

Arif’s fingers began to dance over the keys, the familiar electronic beat of the rhythm machine kicking in. Then, that soulful, slightly raspy voice filled the hall:

The song ended with a flourish of the synthesizer, the applause echoing like thunder. Selim stood up, left a handful of lira on the table, and walked out into the cool night air. The music followed him out the door, the melody of "Kararsız Gönlüm" finally giving him the rhythm he needed to walk toward the life he actually wanted.

For Selim, the world narrowed down to the stage. Arif wasn't just singing; he was narrating Selim’s life. The lyrics spoke of a heart that couldn't find its harbor, a soul wandering between "yes" and "no," between the comfort of the past and the fear of the future.