In a forest just remote enough to feel like a fairy tale but close enough to smell the city's exhaust, Little Red Riding Hood was trudging along. Her basket swung in one hand, her hat sat jauntily on her head, and her face bore an expression that screamed both "I'm living my best life" and "I forgot why I'm here." It was a mood swing in human form.
From the shadows, a wolf—self-styled king of espionage—tracked her. He squinted, counting her steps like a math nerd obsessed with patterns. "She's walking too straight," he thought. "This girl's got a plan, and I'm betting it involves a menu." He darted down a back trail, the kind of shortcut only a forest pro would know. He'd memorized every twig and boulder in this place, including the cottage at the path's end with a faded "Beware of Grandma" sign. "That's her spot," he decided. With a final glance at Red, he whispered, "You're either my soulmate… or my supper."
The wolf reached the cottage first—four legs beat two, no contest. He sauntered to the wooden door and gave it a courteous knock, knock. No answer. Ever the charmer, he tried again. Knock, knock. Crickets. Shrugging, he took a deep breath and let out a thunderous "Huuuuuuf!" The door didn't just open—it blasted off its hinges, soaring like an eagle with a side hustle.
Inside, Grandma was glued to "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," probably dreaming of buying a better door. When the flying door smacked her in the face, she toppled back, glasses sliding to her nose's tip. "What's the deal, kid?" she asked, unfazed.
The wolf strutted in, licking his chops like he'd spotted a Michelin-starred buffet. "Old lady, I've got a thing for your seasoned vibe. So, choose: my bride or my brunch?"
Grandma adjusted her glasses and fired back a flat, "No." No hesitation, no negotiation—just pure rejection.
The wolf froze. No one had ever turned him down. He was the forest's alpha, for crying out loud. "Fine," he snarled, "I'll send your grandkids to the afterlife express."
But before he could pounce, a knock—or rather, a vague tap, since the door was now airborne—sounded. In swaggered Oray Bey, radiating the confidence of a man who'd never lost at rock-paper-scissors. "What a cozy little disaster," he said, surveying the scene.
Sweat dripped from the wolf's brow. "Who the heck are you? I just yeeted the door, and you're waltzing in like it's a party!"
Oray Bey smirked. "I'm Oray Bey, son of billionaire Ekrem Bey. And you, furball, are about to be my signature dish." In one slick move, he whipped out a gun and fired. The wolf's front teeth vanished in a puff of smoke. He collapsed, whining, "I was just peckish, dude…"
Oray Bey turned to Grandma. "My crew's coming. We're turning this shack into a five-star joint. I've introduced myself—care to join the team, ma'am?"
She paused, then muttered, "Ayşe."
"Ayşe! A name as fine as Anatolian wine. I love your grit—you're hired."
Ayşe frowned. "I'm 64, my hands are toast—I'll tank your kitchen."
"Drop the humble act, Ayşe. You're the forest's Gordon Ramsay. Salary? All-you-can-eat, straight from the pot."
As they negotiated, the wolf tried to bolt. Oray Bey stomped his paw. "I've seen wolves, but you're a whole new level of pathetic."
Enter Fatih, strolling in like he owned the place. "What's this? A wolf giving Oray Bey grief?"
"Fatih! Perfect timing," Oray Bey said. "Family friend, this guy."
Suddenly, a cheesy tune blared: "Tell me, friends, does love start like this? A beat in my heart, dan dan dan…" It was like the forest had a jukebox nobody asked for.
Oray Bey clapped. "Lock up the wolf. We've got a restaurant to build."
A month later, the cottage was a bustling bistro. Oray Bey, now grill master, crept in one day and caught Ayşe and Fatih chatting. "Love's a tired lie, from Adam and Eve's time…" they sang, or something equally soap-opera-ish.
Oray Bey hit the floor in a jealous rage. Two minutes later, Ayşe stepped out. "O-Oray Bey?"
"In the flesh," he said, brushing off his suit. "You and Fatih—how close are you two?"
"Fatih? Just the waiter," she said.
"He's a creep with a crush. No more cozy talks, got it?" He smashed the door—for variety, presumably.
"But he takes orders—"
"Orders? He's after you, not the soup du jour. He wants to steal you for his diner."
Fatih waltzed in. "Oray, why the meltdown? I run a restaurant too, and I don't bully my staff."
"I'm a pro, Fatih. I know how to handle my crew."
Fatih hefted a box. "No fight, then. Here's 5 million bucks. Ayşe's coming with me."
Oray Bey's jaw hit the floor. "I grew up fatherless. Dad said love was everything, but he died broke—no pants, even. I'll take the cash."
Ayşe gasped. "But Oray Bey, what you said—"
"Quiet, old timer," he snapped.
Fatih stepped up. "She's not yours now, so chill. Let's go, Ayşe."
As they turned, Oray Bey shouted, "Wait, Fatih."
"Yeah, Oray?"
"I'm not Oray Bey. I'm Koray Bey, his brother. You mixed us up 'cause I skipped my glasses. Oray wears 'em, so you thought he was me. But I'm Koray—check the specs!"
Fatih blinked. "What?"
Koray Bey pushed Ayşe, pulled out twin pistols, and fired at Fatih. "You thought we'd turn on each other? You bought that?!" He laughed maniacally, punching the air, then shot at his own feet. "I'm losing it—you actually fell for it!"
Ayşe, bleeding out, whispered, "Why…?"
The wolf slunk from the corner. "We played you, granny."
"But why…?" Ayşe croaked, then expired. The wolf, never one to waste leftovers, scarfed her down.
And so, the restaurant thrived, with the wolf as mascot and Koray Bey at the helm—proof that in this nutty tale, the wildest twist was that it somehow worked.
—THE END—