Selim Bey’s face darkened. "You are arrogant, old man. Who do you think provides for this valley? Without my hand, you would have nothing."
"The one who gives me my breath also gives me my bread," Yusuf said. "He is the only one to whom I owe my life. To a human, I feel no obligation. Rızkımı veren Hüda’dır, kula minnet eylemem. My sustenance is from God; I shall not bow to a man." minnet_eylemem
The village of Harabe was a place where the wind always seemed to whisper secrets of old debts. For decades, the local landlord, Selim Bey, had ruled not with a fist, but with a ledger. He provided the seeds, the water, and the protection, and in return, he expected a gratitude that bordered on worship. Every villager walked with their head slightly bowed when they passed his gates, a silent acknowledgment of the "favors" that kept them alive. Except for Yusuf. Selim Bey’s face darkened
"Bey," Yusuf began softly, "your shadow is deep, but it is not the sun. If I eat your bread, I must speak your words. If I wear your silk, I must walk your path. You offer me a cage made of gold, but I prefer the wind on these rocks." Without my hand, you would have nothing
One afternoon, Selim Bey rode his horse up to Yusuf’s hut. He looked at the old man’s frayed tunic and the dry bread on his table.