Elden Bд±rakma: Uдџur Iеџд±lak Bayraдџд±

"There will be days," Mustafa said, his voice like grinding stones, "when the wind tries to tear it from your hands. There will be nights when the cold makes your fingers numb and you’ll want to let go just to feel the warmth of your pockets. But you must remember: (Do not let the flag fall from your hand)."

"Grandfather," Ali asked, watching the rhythmic movement of the cloth, "why do you care for it so much? It’s just a piece of metal."

Mustafa was a man of few words, but his hands told stories of resilience. He had lived through seasons of drought and years of plenty, always with a steady gaze toward the horizon.

Ali rushed out into the rain. He didn't ask questions. He simply stepped beside Mustafa and gripped the pole with his small, firm hands. Together, they stood against the invisible force of the sky.