As if she jumped on the shore with a dance move and a palette in her hands, from the sea's foam, of Marmara.

There, in this homeland that she tasted, smelled, walked in its mud, loved, and put it inside every cell of hers.

Decade of the '60s.

When they expelled them, she left her heart there to search for her existence in the corners.

But a violin on the shores of the Sikanawa inspired her, guided her, and created something of those that remain, like cultural heritage.

In her ears, always the voice of her Turkish neighbor.
- My child, do not forget Orhan. We have news from him since World War II.
Everything started one day with rain.
...she returned to the City she loved, to her Homeland, with that same dance move, searching in the snow for what the rain brought.
But what emerged from the search never crossed her mind...