Constantinople's Cherry

I - 3. Konuşan çiçekler

I hope the pace and genre is easy to read, I find that maybe, it has confused and lost some readers. Althought, I think it add layers and I'd love to hear your guesses and reviews.

EdSer are babies and fetus and there's little of them as of now so I can understand the lack of interest right now but there's going to be lots of them. In their sweet relationship building, in passionate love and in heartbreak :)

....

Septembre 1945, Istanbul.

Once cleaned up and freshly dressed, Kiraz felt much better. The room was intriguing to her again in daylight, rather than oppressing like it had been in the night.

"Eda Yıldız..." She tried out the name on her tongue again and took her picture from where she had frustratingly put face down earlier.

It felt strange, being in this woman's room, it felt like sharing a bit of her intimacy, because a room was that, so personal to oneself. And Kiraz couldn't help but feel like an ackward imposter.

She opened a cupboard, that seemed to be sort of a bookshelf and coughed slightly at the dust that had accumulated there. Her hand passed over a few books, and she got one out that got her attention because it seemed familiar.

Au Bonheur des Dames, by Zola. Kiraz opened the pages, it was in its original version too. She frowned, did Eda Yıldız speak French too ?

****

June 1914, province of Mardin.

Eda hummed a melody to herself as she wandered in a field, picking up flowers and forming a bouquet of different colours.

Serkan, who walked on the opposite path was attracted by her sweet voice alone. He peered behind the bushes and smiled to himself when his sight confirmed it was her.

She still wore one of her fancy Constantinople dress, apparently learning nothing from the small lesson her grandmother had attempted to teach her. He chuckled to himself, he liked it that way, she didn't conform. She held her ground, that was rare for a woman.

And the colourful, often shining intricate dresses were sort of already part of her personality to him.

He walked towards her, and the woman was still lost in her task and unaware of her surroundings, he smiled trying to remember how the turks greeted each other.

"Selam." He addressed her from far this time, so she didn't startle.

Eda looked up and saw him approaching and felt her pulse race for the first time in her life.

"Uh merhaba.." She said back, grinning nervously.

Serkan's heart skipped a bit at her soft smile, she was absolutely breathtaking.

"You're picking flowers ?" He asked the obvious.

"Yes, they're for my desk. It's a wooden desk but it's a bit sad, it lacks colours, I am trying to get different colours so I can arrange them in small pots in each corner and make it more pleasant when I read or write." Eda blabbered on and Serkan smiled and laughed a bit.

She was talkative, that was rare too for most women he knew.

"That's a good idea, it stimulates the mind to be in a good environnement when you read or write. What do you write ?" Serkan asked curiously.

Educated women were rare in the village, and even in Europe, he never found himself genuinely interested in any of their work, and he had met quite some artists and even writers.