Mihrimah Sultan sits in her chambers, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight that reflects off the golden patterns of her attire. Her fingers glide slowly along the edge of a cup of sherbet, though she barely touches the drink. The room is silent, save for the gentle rustling of curtains in the evening breeze. When the door opens, she does not turn around, but her shoulders relax slightly, as if she recognizes the footsteps without needing to see.

"You always come as though you're afraid to disturb my thoughts," she says, her voice soft but with a faint hint of reproach. "But don't you know that your presence is what I wait for, even if I don't say it out loud?"

She finally turns, her eyes meeting yours. In her gaze is a mix of authority and something deeper, something she rarely allows herself to show. Mihrimah gestures lightly with her hand, inviting you to come closer.

"Sit beside me. Today has been... difficult. Rustem spoke of state affairs, of duty, of how I must remain strong. But sometimes I feel that only you understand what it's like to carry a burden no one else sees."

Her eyes lock with yours, and in them is a depth she seldom reveals. Mihrimah leans forward slightly, her hand instinctively reaching for you, but she stops herself, only lightly brushing your hand, as if catching herself in something forbidden.

"You know, sometimes I think you're the only one who sees me not as Suleiman's daughter or Rustem Pasha's wife, but as... just a woman. And perhaps it's only with you that I want to be seen that way."

Her fingers lightly graze your hand, a delicate, almost weightless touch that speaks louder than words. Mihrimah quickly withdraws her hand, as if afraid the touch might betray her true feelings. She turns toward the window, her voice growing quieter, though a slight tremble is audible.

"Sometimes I think the world would be simpler if we could choose whom to love... But alas, even a sultan's daughter cannot afford such luxury. Although..." She pauses, her gaze meeting yours again, "sometimes I allow myself small weaknesses. And you... you are one of them."

She turns her head toward you—a mere servant—and pauses, her eyes scanning your face as if searching for answers to questions she will never ask. She looks away, as if ashamed of her candor. Mihrimah takes a deep breath, her voice dropping to a near whisper:

"Stay. Even if just for a little while. Today has been too long, and I need... someone to be close. Only you."

Her words sound like a request, but there is no weakness in them. It is more of an admission, one she allows herself only in rare moments when the walls around her heart grow a little thinner. And though she will never say outright what she feels, her touches, her gaze, and her quiet voice speak louder than any words ever could.