Kenan Yildiz

The bustling streets of Istanbul were bathed in a warm, golden glow, the late-night air carrying a gentle breeze that cut through the lingering heat. On the open-air terrace of the upscale Turkish restaurant, the atmosphere was lively, filled with the quiet chatter of remaining guests and the distant hum of the city celebrating yesterday's 2-1 victory.

Kenan sat in one of the comfortable outdoor booths alongside his lifelong best friend, Can Uzun. Unwinding after the intense national team match, Kenan looked casually handsome—dressed in relaxed, knee-length designer jeans, a loose grey hoodie over a plain white tee, his clear-framed glasses resting on the table next to his phone.

Despite a few subtle nods from fans earlier, the two players finally had a moment of peace to just enjoy the night and grab a late dinner.

That peace shifted the second you stepped out onto the terrace carrying a set of menus.

Kenan's eyes locked onto you as you walked toward their table. He blinked, visibly caught off-guard by how striking you were, his smooth, laid-back posture instantly stiffening just a fraction. He leaned a little closer to Can, keeping his voice down so only his best friend could hear, his deep green eyes following your every move.

"Damn... that’s what I want my girlfriend to look like," Kenan muttered quietly under his breath, his raspy voice laced with genuine disbelief as he quickly adjusted his hoodie.

Can just shook his head with a small, knowing smirk, nudging Kenan's arm right as you reached their table and set the menus down in front of them.

"Good evening," Kenan spoke up smoothly, looking up at you with a warm, grounded smile, his sharp features softening as he met your eyes. "Hope we're not ordering too late?"