Zey is the eldest Aslan sibling and grew up in San Diego. Skated competitively through high school and was a world champion skater that won several medals. Gave all of that up to go to university and pursue law in New York. Has been in New York ever since living with her best friend, who recently passed away, leaving Zey has the legal guardian of her son. Zey just moved to Kismet to be close to family to help while she's adjusting to life as a single parent.
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Zeynep barely remembered a time when she wasn’t responsible for someone else. Her world shifted forever the day her parents brought home her twin siblings, a wide-eyed boy and girl who instantly became the gravity around which her young life revolved. From the moment she could walk and talk, she appointed herself their guardian, their teacher, their quiet example of how to move through the world with discipline and grace. Even as a child, she carried herself with a solemn sense of purpose. Where other kids pushed boundaries, Zeynep drew them, too afraid of being the bad example, too aware of the eyes always watching her.
There was an intensity to her that adults admired and children didn’t quite understand. She wasn’t a loner, exactly just selective. Her days were ruled by schedules and expectations: early mornings, schoolwork, chores, and the kind of obedience that made teachers adore her and other kids keep their distance. But she didn’t mind. Structure was a language she spoke fluently. She found comfort in its consistency, in knowing what came next. It made her feel safe. Capable. In control.
That same draw toward structure and personal mastery is what led her to figure skating. What started as a recreational activity quickly transformed into a fixation. The precision of the sport, the poise, the tireless repetition all spoke to something deep in Zeynep. On the ice, she found an outlet for the emotion she didn’t know how to express. It was where she could push herself past the limits of her mind and body and emerge sharper, stronger, more refined. Skating became her escape and her identity, as vital to her as breathing. She trained relentlessly, balancing early-morning practices with late-night study sessions. She was disciplined to the point of obsession and it paid off. Over the years, she collected medals from competitions around the country, culminating in several standout performances and medals in multiple world championship competitions.
Yet, when the time came to make a decision about her future of whether to chase the elite skating path or pivot toward something more traditional, Zeynep chose the latter. Not because she lacked the talent or the drive, but because she couldn’t silence the ingrained voice in her head that warned against risk. That whispered that passion was fleeting, but success, true, tangible success, came from education, stability, and sacrifice. So she left the ice behind and enrolled at Columbia University.
College, for most, is a season of experimentation and self-discovery. For Zeynep, it was more of the same. Her routine was rigid, her focus unshakable. She rarely attended parties, avoided distractions, and threw herself headfirst into her coursework. Without skating, her world narrowed even further. She became almost mechanical. Waking, studying, achieving, repeating. Her emotions were boxed away, her ambitions sharpened to a single point: law school.
Then came Ariana.
Her sophomore year roommate was everything Zeynep wasn’t: bright, impulsive, emotionally fluent, unfiltered in a way that was both jarring and magnetic. Ariana lived her truth out loud, and for the first time, someone saw past Zeynep’s armor. What began as an uneasy cohabitation gradually deepened into a bond that neither of them could quite define. Ariana cracked Zeynep’s rigid world open, dragging her to late-night food runs, pushing her to laugh, encouraging her to live for more than just checklists and credentials. For Zeynep, who had always held herself at arm’s length from intimacy, Ariana became a quiet revolution.
They stayed together through the rest of college, and when Ariana graduated and landed a job in New York, she insisted Zeynep move in while she finished law school. In a city that could be isolating and overwhelming, their shared apartment became home. It was filled with warmth and music, clashing schedules and quiet understanding. With her family far away, Ariana became Zeynep’s chosen one. She was her confidante, her grounding force, the only person who made her feel like she could be more than what she was raised to be.
After earning her law degree, Zeynep quickly carved out a name for herself in the legal world. She was relentless in the courtroom, a quiet storm with a mind like a scalpel. Her caseload began with minor infractions but quickly escalated to high-stakes criminal defense. Her clients grew more powerful and more morally ambiguous. While she never faltered in her professionalism, a part of her recoiled from the compromises she had to make. It was a career she excelled in but rarely felt at peace with.
To counterbalance the darkness of her day job, she began offering pro bono legal work to clients ranging from work with Giovanna Wallace's non-profit to those from the Innocent Project such as Cael Montgomery. These cases, often messy and emotionally draining, were where Zeynep felt most like herself. They gave her purpose beyond the paycheck, and a reason to believe that her skills could still do good in the world.
By her early thirties, Zeynep had achieved the life she thought she was supposed to want: a respected legal career, a stable home, and a deep, if undefined, relationship with the person she trusted most. It wasn’t flashy or wild, but it was secure. It was hers. Until everything changed.
Ariana’s pregnancy was a surprise. A one-night stand that left her reeling. But for Zeynep, it opened a floodgate of emotions she had buried for years. They had never spoken about what they were to each other, not really. Her upbringing, deeply traditional and quietly repressive, had trained her to suppress any desires that didn’t fit the mold. She told herself it was friendship. That it was enough. But now, watching Ariana prepare to bring a child into the world, something in Zeynep cracked.
Still, she never said a word. She stood by Ariana, just as she always had. Through the pregnancy, the birth, and the endless nights of newborn care, Zeynep was there, silent, constant, devoted. They co-parented Darian in everything but name, falling into an easy rhythm of shared responsibilities and unspoken love. Their life together shifted once again, this time into something closer to family. But life has a cruel way of repeating its tests.
When Darian was three, Ariana was diagnosed with cancer. The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatment schedules, and whispered prayers. Zeynep dropped everything to be there. She took time off work, researched every specialist, stayed up through the night. Her love, though never named, poured out through her every action. But love isn’t always enough. Three years later, Ariana was gone.
Grief hollowed Zeynep out. For weeks, she moved through life like a ghost, her once carefully built world crumbling around her. Were it not for Darian, this small, curious, heartbreakingly familiar boy, she might have let herself fall apart completely. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not for him.
With no support system left in New York, and a heart too shattered to hold it all together alone, Zeynep made the hardest decision of her life. She packed up the life she’d built and moved to Kismet Harbor, a quiet coastal town near her family. Not because she wanted to go back, but because she needed to start over. For Darian. For herself. For the chance, finally, to figure out who she is when she’s not trying to be perfect.
