Right after the end of the second world war, at age 22, Kiraz Aznavour is faced with a shocking revelation on her mother's death bed : she was adopted.
Follow the young girl in her journey to discover the truth about her biological parents, an impos...
This story maybe has a slow pace to get into but I am loving writing it this way. I hope you all will like reading as much. I kind of didn't plan on this quick of a new chapter but I at least wanted to introduce you to this universe's EdSer so here it is, leave your thoughts ! :)
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Kiraz stood infront of the painting earlier mentionned by Melo, staring intently. Unknowing that it told more than what she saw. That it hid more than it seemed too. It indeed represented a real place, a place where it all began.
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6 June 1914, province of Mardin.
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Serkan Baltayan enjoyed his ride back from the windmill where he sat to read in lazy afternoons these days, the sun was setting on the small village in the outskirts of Mardin.
At eighteen years old, Serkan liked to be home for summer, but the days got quite boring without his friends and the rush of the city. And not any city, Serkan was studying a double bachelor of History and litterature at the Sorbonne University in Paris.
His family, the Baltayan, were established artisans of their village, that sold their craft in Mardin, with a dozen of employees working for them.
Young Serkan had never seen his life in his village, taking over the family entreprise and handling it, he had more ambition, he wanted to study, he was passionate about books, he wanted to travel the world, he was keen of adventure.
To his delight, his parents were supportive of his ambitions, they had saved for his plans and at only 17, Serkan had been on his way to France, to discover the world and live life like he had always dreamed in a big European city, away from the boredom of his small south anatolian village.
In one year, Serkan changed a lot. He discovered fun in parties in Paris, balls and city life, exquisite food, immense cathedrales-like libraries where he could fulfill his desire of knowledge. He travelled a lot, Amsterdam, London, Italy, young Serkan's life was all books and travelling for a year. It was a bit risky for one that liked confort and stability, but adventure he absolutely loved for himself.
He had gotten engaged in politics, made a lot of friends, and courted a few girls, thought those were limited to coffee dates and never took a serious turn.
On his mother's insistence through letters and like he had promised before leaving, Serkan returned to the village for summer.
It was pleasing at first, to see his family again, see his home, eat familiar foods, rest away from the hectic rythm of city life, travelling, studies and social movements. But only two weeks in and young Serkan could already feel himself being bored.
Not that there wasn't any young men or women of his age, even friends in the village, but for most that hadn't left it, they already worked and hadn't studied, some were even married at that age. They didn't have the same time, topic of interest and conversation and outlook at life as him, so Serkan found home in his books. And dwelled into a confortable routine of biking around, helping artisans and reading.
