I'd volunteered at the shelter for three days straight. It had been reinvigorating. Knowing that the children were genuinely interested in cultivating vegetables in their gardens was encouraging.
Every free moment I had between the shelter and the flower shop, I had spent preparing lessons in gardening for different age groups. I'd even organized alternative activities for those who had no interest in planting anything. It'd been worth it. I'd had my days filled with joy and laughter and been too busy to pay attention to my negative thoughts.
As I expected, I wasn't being paid a cent in money. Yet working with the soil had always relaxed me, and right now, it was proving to be the best of therapies. And for the first time since I'd lost my scholarship, I felt myself – which was the best form of payment.
Today's lessons had been straightforward. I'd had the children work with runner beans. We'd be growing beans in cotton this week to help the children understand how light and water would affect their beans - how too much light or too much water could affect their development.
I was collecting the materials we had used for our lesson when I saw her – a little girl watching me through the window. I waved, calling her. But she disappeared quickly. Thinking I'd probably frightened her, I continued clearing the tables and returning materials back to the containers I had brought.
Moments later, the little girl appeared right in front of me. Her hands were behind her back.
I greeted her and asked her name; She didn't respond. But she smiled and placed a drawing in my hands. It was a nice drawing of two adults working in a garden.
Look at that! Serkan Bolat had also charmed this little girl.
"Is it me?" the little girl nodded. "And let me guess, this one over here is Serkan Bey?" I asked, imitating Serkan's tone, making her giggle.
I was about to ask another question when Melo hurried through the door.
"I found you!" She exclaimed. "Do you know how long I've been searching for you this time?" Melo was breathless, and I chuckled at her graceless position when she dumped herself on a nearby chair.
The little girl covered her mouth to keep from laughing as she approached Melo, who immediately straightened up. Taking the child by her hand, she rushed out of the room, not without first blowing me a kiss and winking, whispering, "We'll chat at home."
Eda via Instagram, November 12th, 2020
[Eda: Girls 🍷🙃]
***
I was drinking tea with Melo and Ceren that evening when I received the notification:
Then another one on Twitter.
My face must have transfigured because Ceren freaked and hastened to me, taking my cell phone from my hand. A wave of relief bathed her immediately.
"For a moment there, I thought Cenç had proposed to you via text message," her myrrh at my misery made me stick my tongue out at her.
"What's up?" Melo asked, momentarily distracted with her manicure.
"Only the hottest man in all of Türkiye is asking to follow our Edacim. If she didn't want to slap him silly, I'd advise her to—" one look from me silenced her immediately. – Nothing. I'd say nothing," she added, laughing.
Ceren loved this. If I knew her as I did, she'd take advantage of this, get close to Serkan, to fit in with his crowd... she was probably already planning to ask him out. That was Ceren for you, one of my closest friends: rich, gorgeous, and friendly. Serkan was the kind of man that she adored.
I suddenly didn't like the idea of her going out with him that much.
Melo rolled her eyes at Ceren, "We hate him, remember, Cer?"
"WE don't hate anyone. We are just angry at Serkan Bolat for his stupid decision to cancel Eda's scholarship. Nothing he couldn't make up for with a good apology and some groveling - Ceren's suggestive tone drove me to throw a pillow at his face.
She was provoking me, yet her teasing made me realize how I was making this more significant than it actually was. So, I accepted Serkan's follow request and went ahead and followed him back.
It wouldn't be a novelty seeing him on my timeline. I'd followed him religiously for years until a few months prior because I admired him professionally.
"All done," I exclaimed. "Are you happy now?"
"Very," Ceren responded.
Then the three of us broke down laughing and conversed the rest of the night.
Serkan > Engin via WhatsApp, 13th November 2020
6:27 AM
Serkan: Engin, do you know where the archives for the students awarded scholarships by Art Life are?
7:23 AM
Engin: There should be a copy on our central server. But Leyla has their physical portfolios, personal statements, essays, transcripts, letters of recommendation, etc. Why are you asking?
Serkan: Eda. I was thinking about what you mentioned.
Engin: And what was that?
Serkan: 'Eda is a sweet and talented girl - a brilliant student' and all that jazz.
Engin:
Serkan: How does Piril put up with you? I mean it...
Engin: She adores me :)
Engin: But back to you, where did all this interest in Eda come from?
Serkan: I'm not interested in her
Engin:
Serkan: Evrim Bey's project. He wants something modern, something unconventional. A design that is exclusive and innovative. And you know how he's in love with flowers. His botanical garden is one of the most spectacular in the city.
Engin: And what do you want exactly? For Eda to give you some pointers? Why don't you just hire a landscape architect?
Serkan: I was thinking about an internship. You said it yourself – She's energetic and upbeat. She's a breath of fresh air. Perhaps she'd be an excellent addition to our company.
Engin: Sure, until you send her running...
Serkan: 🙄
Engin: Abi, you and I know you have little patience for your employees, let alone interns. Plus, she works at her aunt's flower shop to support herself. She might not have the option to work an unpaid internship.
Serkan: I got it, Engin. I'm in the office. What time are you getting here?
Engin: At nine. Like all your employees.
Serkan: Don't take long. We have to head to the worksite as soon as you get here. I've to be at the shelter this afternoon.
Engin: Already on my way, Serkan.
Serkan: Harika.
I asked Leyla to bring all our documentation on the scholarship students. And I was surprised by the quality of work each student presented. Eda's was incredibly exceptional. It was impeccable. She had wonderful technique, and her designs were always aesthetically pleasing. Her grades were remarkable. The articles she'd written were exciting. She had at least a dozen letters of recommendation. Eda was as extraordinary and talented as Engin has commented. Yet, her dossier stated, 'Scholarship Cancelled.'
Cancelled?
Why would Art Life cancel the scholarship of one of the most promising talents in architecture at the most prestigious university in the country? Especially during her senior year? This made absolutely no sense.
Quickly browsing through each of the dossiers of the other 31 students Art Life was providing scholarships for this year, I realized that each and every one of them had lost their scholarships right before the semester had started.
I requested an urgent meeting with Ahmet, my CFO, but he was unavailable; he was at the holding today. Hence, I asked for all financial documentation for our studio: budgeting, accounting, and payroll reports. I'd review them with a fine comb until I found the reason for the cancelled scholarships.
My day at the construction sites was productive; everything was in order. After meeting a client for coffee, I headed to the hardware store, where I gathered the supplies I'd be using for the talk I'd prepared for the children.
As I drove to the shelter, I remembered Eda's attitude toward me a few days prior. I hadn't been paranoid. She had, indeed, been trying to punish me for a mistake that wasn't even mine! I found her behavior childish and vastly irritating, too immature for someone who could potentially intern at my studio.
I sighed heavily before leaving my car.
Who took an accounting error to hear?
Serkan Bolat via Twitter, 13th November 2020
[Serkan: Tinker, Tinker, Tinker...
Comments:
Eda: An irrigation system? *Surprised Pikachu meme*
Serkan: Yes *emoji sunglasses*]
When I arrived at the shelter on Saturday morning, Serkan Bolat was already there. He wasn't wearing a suit. And he was crouched down, helping a couple of children. His expression was serene. I would have never imagined this man being so patient and tender, especially with children.
What I knew about him was general knowledge: Serkan Bolat was a perfectionist, bad-tempered, and complex man. Always elegant. Always serious.
Yet here he was now, right before me, wearing blue jeans and a blue polo shirt that seemed painted to his skin.
Off Eda, you're acting like Ceren! I didn't like Serkan Bolat. I didn't want to fall under Serkan Bolat's spell.
I browsed Twitter to distract myself while Serkan finished his lesson. The first thing that appeared on my feed was his profile. Right. I followed him back. His last tweet was about the drip irrigation system Serkan was currently helping the children with. It was simple enough for them to build, and it'd be beneficial now that we would be planting our seeds.
I didn't want to think he'd done anything to please me. I knew his choice had nothing to do with me. But I couldn't help but be delighted that he'd chosen to create something that would supplement what the children were already learning with me. He'd thought about what would be best for them.
A loud thud brought me back to my senses.
The little girl that had given me that drawing a few days ago had returned. She held a little panda bear to her side. She smiled shyly and shrugged repeatedly. She approached me and sat beside me, curious to see what I was looking at so intently on my screen.
"Serkan Bey is doing something to help us with our garden," I explained. Her big, attentive eyes held mine, hoping for further detail. I began to explain as simply as I could what the device on my screen – the irrigation system – was and how it worked. I was so engaged in my description that I didn't realize Serkan had left the classroom and now observed us quietly.
"You escaped from us, Miss Kiraz," he uttered softly. The little girl held her panda bear closer to her and lowered her eyes, fleeing from Serkan's gaze.
'Kiraz doesn't speak to him either' was the first thing that came to mind as I witnessed their exchange. It was silly to feel happy about it; it wasn't like I was competing with Serkan for the child's attention, was it? Kiraz probably didn't speak to either of us because she was timid.
"Come on, let's finish building your dripping system; you're going to need it to water your seeds." He extended his hand, and Kiraz held it. Together, they returned to the classroom, and I followed them, half due to curiosity and half due to awe.
During the next 20 minutes – or it could have been longer, I lost track of time – Serkan Bolat worked with Kiraz. They managed to build the irrigation system properly, and Kiraz opened the widest grin for Serkan. She was very proud of herself, and he was clearly proud of her.
This was the first time I saw Serkan Bolat smile.
My lesson started, and the children began planting seeds in different pots. After learning about the effect of sun and water and seeing their beans sprout, the children were excited about their new lesson; Peas, watermelon, sunflowers, and wheatgrass were the seeds we would be planting.
Serkan couldn't escape my botany class because Kiraz kept him beside her the entire time. The little girl dragged him from one corner of the classroom to the other the whole time, picking up little pots, seeds, soil... Serkan talked and talked to her. Whatever he was saying to her, I couldn't hear. Yet, Kiraz loved his full attention on her and wouldn't stop smiling. Serkan seemed genuinely content.
Melo picked up the children from the yard a little later so they would get a snack, and I'd dismissed them. Only Serkan and I were left in the garden. Silently, he helped me pick up my tools and water pots and return everything to its rightful place while I organized the children's pots by type on the deck by the classroom door.
When we were finished, I broke our silence and uttered a reluctant "thank you," even when it was the last thing I'd had wanted to come out of my mouth.
"It must be tough to thank someone you can't stand," Serkan provoked.
Wait, he was provoking me? Here was the Serkan I knew, full of himself, talking down to the rest of us mere mortals.
I rolled my eyes, saying, "Next time, I won't say anything," and walked away from him.
"There will be a next time?" He asked playfully, and my willingness to suffocate him with his own tongue grew exponentially.
"Allah, Allah! Which deity did I piss off to deserve you in my life?" I asked, irritated.
Serkan laughed without humor, "I had nothing to do with the cancellation of your scholarship. My CFO took that decision without consulting me. It was dozens of scholarships that were cut.
Serkan continued to explain, to justify himself, but I only understood one thing: he wasn't willing to accept any responsibility or apologize.
"Funny that a man such as yourself can't consider the gravity of the issue or the consequences it unleashed. Funny you aren't willing to accept your mistake, wash your hands, and say that you have no responsibility for it because the company is yours."
My frustration was very evident because Serkan cut the distance between us and affirmed emphatically, "I would have never let this happen if I'd known. I wouldn't prevent the top students at university from finishing their degrees.
Yet, none of that matters anymore. It was too late. "But it happened. I called; I wrote innumerable amount of times, trying to contact someone at Art Life who could assist me. I didn't just lose my scholarship that day," I added morosely.
"I can imagine," he responded sincerely.
Perhaps Serkan Bolat wasn't an evil man, and maybe I wouldn't be this upset if he said, 'I'm sorry .' But acknowledging that the cancellation of my scholarship had had consequences beyond missing a year of school was something.
I took a deep breath and changed the topic, too tired to argue about something that couldn't be changed. "Kiraz seems to really like you."
Serkan rubbed his temple, "I honestly don't know why."
This was the extent of our first conversation since he received a phone call and excused himself to pick up.
Eda via Twitter, November 13th, 2020.
[Eda: He has but to open his mouth to irritate me *angry face emoji*
Comments:
Engin: What did he do this time? *curious monkey - meme*
Eda: Better to ask me what he DIDN'T do.]
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Good morning, friends!
I hope you are doing well and this story is keeping you engaged. I know the chapters are shorter, but it's because Wattpad only allows 20 pictures per chapter. Sorry.
As always, thank you so much for your continued support of my writing. I know it's not top-notch, but I do enjoy writing Edser, and I'm not going to give up despite recent incidents.
May my little stories bring a little bit of joy to your hearts.
Hugs,
Angie