Chapter 5 HER STRANGE REFLECTION

"How are you doing.......Defne?" Mrs. Dogans asked, her voice smooth, but her expression sharp like a villain from a classic noir film.

Ayla was taken aback, thoroughly confused. What could be going on here? Defne again-that name, coming from the mouth of the woman she knew as Defne's mother-sent a chill crawling down her spine.

The sound of it from someone so close to Defne and so familiar with both girls made it even worse.

Ayla and Defne shared striking physical similarities-enough to make strangers pause-but their faces differed slightly, just enough that their families could easily tell them apart.

"De... Defne, Ma'am? Defne?" Ayla asked in a most confused state, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to process the bizarre twist her life had suddenly taken.

"Yes, Defne," Mrs. Dogans repeated unapologetically, dropping her handbag on the bed with less care than usual. The thud echoed in the quiet room. She made herself comfortable in a chair nearby, crossing her legs with calculated poise and folding her arms tightly across her chest.

Her husband, Mr. Dogans, stood beside her like a looming shadow-tall, silent, and unreadable, offering no comfort, only heightening the growing tension in the room.

"Defne, how?" Ayla whispered again. She uncovered herself and sat upright in the bed, wondering if her previous position had distorted her hearing. Was she dreaming? Had she misunderstood? She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her mind and make sense of what was happening. She looked intensely at their faces, desperate to find a clue, any flicker of familiarity that might ground her. Were these people real? Was she really alive? Was she hallucinating?

At some point, she began to doubt her sanity. Whether she was seeing or hearing things remained unclear. The confidence with which everyone called her that name-Defne-baffled her to the core. It wasn't a fluke. It wasn't once or twice. It was everyone. Every voice, every face around her echoed that name as if it were hers.

"How are you doing, Defne?" Mrs. Dogans asked again, now with a pretentious smile curling her lips. She raised her hand to touch Ayla, but Ayla instinctively pulled away, recoiling from her like she was fire. The gesture left Mrs. Dogans' hand awkwardly suspended in the air before she lowered it slowly, her eyes narrowing with a flicker of annoyance.

"Please, what's going on? What happened to me? Where is Defne? What's with all this drama?" Ayla asked, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. She felt like a spectator in a play she didn't audition for-one with a terrifying script and no escape route. Her instincts screamed that something unnatural lurked behind this strange performance. Something very unusual. Something unfathomable.

"Defne, you-"

"I'm not Defne, for God's sake!" Ayla cut her off sharply, her voice cracking between tears. But before she could say more, her eyes caught on something-a clear, stainless container resting on the table beside her bed. It glinted under the harsh hospital lights, and to her horror, it mirrored her image. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

"What... Who is this?" she muttered, reaching up to touch her face, but she couldn't feel it-not properly. It felt cold like it had been sculpted from the ice of Polaris. Alien. Detached. Wrong. Her fingertips grazed over unfamiliar contours. She leaned closer, trembling, studying the foreign reflection with eyes that begged for reassurance.

Then came the final blow.

The game became painfully clear when Mr. Dogans offered his phone to her. Its front camera was already turned on, held in place like a weapon.

"Oh blood of God..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the phone. She nearly ran mad at what her eyes beheld. The person on the screen-no, in the camera-was not her. It was Defne. She knew it. Yet, somehow, impossibly, the reflection mimicked her every move. Every blink. Every gesture. Every panicked expression.

Her breath quickened. Panic surged through her chest, hot and rapid.

"What's going on? What happened to me? Am I still in my right senses? Oh, my Lord! What's happening to me?" she cried out again and again, as though hoping the repetition would summon an answer. A solution. Anything.

"You are certainly in your right senses, my dear," Mr. Dogans said firmly, his voice flat and decisive, before snatching his phone back with a force that made it clear the conversation was over.

"No, no, no! I'm not Defne! I'm Ayla! I can feel me!" she cried, her voice rising with every word. "There must be an error somewhere, but I bet you- I swear to youI'm Ayla!"

Yet their expressions remained unmoved. Cold. Stoic. Unchanged.

"Ma, please listen to me," she pleaded, her hands shaking as she reached for Mrs. Dogans. "The person you are with is Ayla. Not your daughter Defne. You are not my parents. My family is in the countryside. I'm telling you, I'm Ayla."

Desperate now, she clutched Mrs. Dogans' hand, squeezing it with all the conviction she had. She wanted her to feel it-to see her for who she really was. But instead of warmth, all she got was the chilling reaction of a woman gone villain. The once-sympathetic mother figure pulled away, her face shifting into something cruel and scary.

"Sweetheart, listen to me," she said, rising from her chair slowly. "You are Defne. I know you must still be traumatized from the accident, but trust me when I say-you are my daughter. I mean my sweet Defne."

Ayla shook her head vigorously, accompanied by a dismissive wave of her hands. Her facial expression conveyed her skepticism-no, her complete rejection-of Mrs. Dogans' words.

"Ma, listen," she said, drawing a shaky breath. "To prove to you that I know who I am-call the doctor for a test. A DNA test. I think a DNA test will resolve this issue. It has to. That's the only thing that can end this madness."

Mrs. Dogans suddenly sprang to her feet, rage flashing in her eyes. Without warning, she grabbed Ayla by the hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to look straight into her eyes-those cold, scary, autocratic eyes.

Then she said.....