Nazım

Nazım// the dreamer student

Okay, so basically this is a new story [ha] that I actually enjoyed writing, alhamdulilah. I've been wanting to write something with danger and action for a while now, and considering Winter Trains doesn't get very dangerous, I wrote this.

This story takes place in Turkey 1961, where there was a lot of political stuff goin' on. Personally, I found this to be a little hard to incorporate so you'll see one or two mentions of real politicians in here, but other than that, nope!

Dedicated to beeni1234 because your book actually was part of the inspiration I had to write this =)

I hope you guys like it, in sha Allah!

[and for those of you wondering! you pronounce this letter Ç like a 'ch' and this letter Ş like it's an 'sh'.]

[i s t a n b u l]
1 9 6 1

N A Z I M
{the dreamer student}

Ahmet Bey's corner convenience shop wasn't too far from becoming the second home of Nazım Şahin. If you entered the store through one of its two entrances, you would see the nineteen year old leaning at the counter, listening to the radio by the cashier. You would see his brow furrowed, his dark brown eyes focused intently on the old thing.

It was for good reason, of course. He couldn't care less about the political discussions going on-- it's not like the owner of the shop really knew anyway.

Just last year, in 1960, a military coup had been set in place that ended up with the execution of the prime minister and two of his cabinet members. It was an event that even people living far from civilization would have known about, and wouldn't forget for a rather long while.

"The execution of Adnan Menderes was not, something that was just simply decided, is what people are arguing. . ." Zeren Çelik's voice accompanied with the crackles of static from the old radio had been filling his ears, and it was a sort of bittersweet bliss.

Nazım rested his head on his propped up arm, focusing more on her speaking. If you glanced at his face, the first word would be mesmerized just from seeing how he looked. He'd always been Zeren's supporter, not in the sense he had agreed with with everything she'd said but because they'd both had an extensive history of a friendship that was strained by time (and Zeren's ridiculous success).

It was Nazım's way of saying that no, he refused to forget someone as important to him as Zeren Çelik. Only because to him, she wasn't a speaker famous throughout the country, she was still the odd ten year old who was insistant on speaking her mind.

The sound of the shop door being opened, then closed had brought him out of his daze. He fixed his posture becoming aware of his surroundings, but still listened to the radio.

"Are you still listening to her?"

Nazım turned his head and saw his younger sister standing at the door in a very frightening state. Hair disheveled in wispy, mahogany locks in front of her face, her school uniform looked like a storm had flown through it. Suddenly, Nazım had forgotten about the radio and Zeren.

"What happened?" he asked, fully turning around.

Nesrin's expression remained blank, and Nazım saw something like a bruise on her cheek. The answer came in two words. "Stupid girls."

He didn't have any decent advice to give Nesrin that his mother would have approved of. Nazım's secret high school history was comprised of fights behind the building or outside with these two students that had never failed in angering him at least once. He was no example to follow for anyone, now that he thought about it.

"I hate them," she said through gritted teeth, and went to setting down her book bag. She started to pull out tangles in her hair, wincing with some tougher strands.

He stood there, gripping the edge of the counter as he watched her.

"You would think people would be a little less caring about something like clothing," she commented.

"Was that why they beat you up? Clothes? That's kinda stupid."

"It would be if it were the only reason," Nesrin said. She brushed her hair back and turned to face him with a sober expression. "They all know and I don't know how they know but they know. They can't mind their own business, they just have to know everything. Spreading rumors like I'm a joke; like being homeless to them is a joke."

"We're not homeless," he muttered.

Nesrin stared up at him. "Home's supposed to be a place you love. I hate going back there."

Looking up, Nazım saw a group of girls around Nesrin's age walking past the shop and they looked in through the window. There were sarcastic smiles and devious grins on their faces. Nesrin, noticing the sudden shadow, turned around and jumped at the girls smirking in the window.

They came for the door and quickly, Nazım grabbed the keys the owner had left from the counter, and jammed the key in the lock, turning it before they could twist the handle.

"Sorry, we're closed," he mouthed, and he could hear a plump girl in the back shout a curse at him before they all headed off. He turned to look at Nesrin, whose fists were clenched and expression steely.

This was not the first time Nesrin had been bullied, and was just the one of many incidents occuring over the few months their mother had been in the hospital for treatment. He only wished his mother would be back from that white room smelling of cleaning chemicals, just to spend the extra time with them.

He made sure the girls had left before unlocking the door and tossing it to the back of the counter. "Where do you want to go then?"

"Anywhere but here," she mumbled. "Anywhere," she insisted, looking up.

"We should go then," he said. "Murat could be home."

There was some hesitation, before she complied and went with him.

☏-☏-☏

The second they'd opened the door, Nesrin had gone straight into her room, which wasn't very far, or very big. Nazım could only imagine getting beaten up like that. Girls were vicious; they attacked not only physically but very well psychologically, and made sure that one of the ways of attack hurt more, longer, than the other.

At least with boys they had fights that would last just that once.

Before Nazım went to his room for prayer, he went to looking around the small house for Murat, his youngest sibling. He was in the kitchen when he heard the door open and saw his brother standing in the doorway with a grin lacking two front teeth.

"I thought you left us," Nazım said, noticing the light sarcasm in his statement.

"The teacher lady loves me, look!" Murat held up a paper with overall big and crude handwriting, on which there was a big gold star. "She says I did the best in the whole class."

"Nice," he said, ruffling his brother's hair. "I'll be right back, I think there's mail."

"Where's Nessy?"

"I think she's praying Zuhur, so just wait." Nazım answered on his way out.

After going to the mailbox, Nazım had come across a sheet of paper sticking out of the edge. He opened the lid and pulled out a newspaper with a headline written across the top in big letters:

ZEREN ÇELIK COMES TO ARABAH FOR DEBATE
ÇELIK VERSUS JALE

He read the headline again, and then a few paragraphs down. After rereading it several times, he felt himself coming to a pleasant conclusion.

Nazım felt a faint floaty feeling in his chest as he realized it; a tingling feeling between warm and happy. It was then he realized he would see her at her peak; something she'd always talked about between them before having left.

Oh, he hated so many things, but Zeren would never be one of them.

And he would finally see her again.