The Silent Soldier's Fugitive

Chapter 3 "New Life"

Sahra Aydemir

Hairdressing was the only job I'd ever had in my life. But now, I guess I need to change my profession along with the city I live in. To avoid being found by Creepy İsmail, I might even have to change my gender at this rate. Though I can't bear to cut my hair.

I opened the door of the restaurant and took a quick look inside before settling at a table by the window. A young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, was mopping the floor. Shortly after, a young woman of similar age emerged from the back.

"Welcome! What would you like?" she asked cheerfully.

"Thank you, I'm actually here about the job advertisement."

"Let me call my grandmother," she said and disappeared. I expected an elderly lady, but instead, a well-groomed woman who defied all grandmother stereotypes appeared. I could have sworn she resembled Meltem Cumbul more than Meltem Cumbul herself. As she approached, I stood up. We shook hands, and she introduced herself.

"Welcome, I'm the manager here. I'm Aysun."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Sahra."

"Sahra, your name is as beautiful as your face, mashallah."

"Thank you."

"Where are you from, Sahra? I haven't seen you before," she said, studying my face. "Usually, the same people come here. When someone different arrives, I notice immediately. I have a good memory for faces."

"I'm from Afyon. I had to relocate due to some family issues."

"Look, if you're from around here and have a blood feud or something similar, or if you're in trouble, tell me upfront."

"No, no, I'm genuinely from Afyon. I don't have any blood feuds. I promise you won't get into trouble because of me."

"I understand. Sorry, I had to ask."

"No need to apologize. You're right—you can't hire just anyone."

We talked in a question-and-answer format for about half an hour. Her grandchildren, the twins Mert and Mihri, joined us at the table when there were no customers. There was also another young boy, just six years old, named Efe. Aysun needed help in the kitchen because she was overwhelmed on busy days. Looking at her, I said confidently, "I'm quite good with desserts and appetizers, Aysun. I have a knack for cooking, but I've never cooked for such a large crowd. So I might need some time to adjust."

"That's perfectly fine," she replied warmly. "Let's say we'll have a one-week trial period. You can see if you're determined to change your profession, and I can see if you'll be a good fit."

We shook hands in agreement. Tomorrow morning would be my first day at work.

I left the restaurant and walked toward the boarding house, stopping a couple of times to ask for directions. I made mental notes of the landmarks I passed, not wanting to be late for work in the morning. The walk took twenty-five minutes, so I'd need to leave at eight to make it by Aysun's requested time of eight-thirty. Back at the boarding house, I ate a sandwich I'd bought on the way, completed my skincare routine, and went to bed. I was exhausted from spending the previous night at the police station and running errands all day.

The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed. My room was warm, and I'd slept comfortably. After washing my face and hands, I changed my bandage and dressed in blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. I applied light makeup and styled my hair into a fishtail braid at the crown of my head to keep it out of my face while working. I planned to tie it up in the kitchen and let it down later. My hair was wavy and long, just like my mother's and aunt's. I pulled on my black puffer vest and sneakers before heading out.

Walking briskly toward the restaurant, I tried to remember the route from yesterday. I arrived at quarter past eight to find the restaurant already open. As I entered, I called out cheerfully, "Good morning!"

Mert was wiping tables while Mihri mopped the floor. They returned my greeting in unison. Aysun poked her head out from the kitchen and said warmly, "Good morning, Sahra, welcome, dear. Come on, everyone, breakfast is ready. Let's have some tea first, and then we'll start work together."

Over breakfast, we continued getting to know each other through casual conversation. Mert seemed to be the lively, cheerful one of the family, while Mihri was more reserved—a typical teenager in her moody phase. I wanted to ask Aysun about her grandchildren but held back, worried it might be too personal too soon.

The day's menu consisted of yogurt soup, chickpea pilaf, and stuffed eggplants. I quickly tackled every task Aysun assigned me. At times, I felt as though I were working alongside my aunt. While helping Aysun, I had Mert gather ingredients for desserts and appetizers. Aysun suggested I try making a few items today, so I decided to prepare two desserts. I was skilled at making both milk-based and syrup-based sweets. I chose to make kalburabastı for the syrup-based option and biscuit-based mock chicken breast pudding for the milk-based dessert. For appetizers, I prepared carrot tarator and baba ghanoush. Though it took some effort, I was pleased with the results. Mert had efficiently roasted the eggplants and peppers in the oven for the baba ghanoush.

By noon, it seemed like everyone in Sarıkamış had descended upon our restaurant. At one point, I even helped with waitressing to manage the rush. After the crowd thinned, we tackled the mountain of dishes. I noticed that while everyone had tasted and enjoyed my desserts and appetizers, they hadn't served them to customers. After pondering this, I asked, "Aysun, did you not like the desserts and appetizers? Or perhaps they weren't suitable for the menu?"

"No, dear, I liked them very much," she replied. "But the police squad is coming this evening, so I saved them as something special for them."

Once we finished the dishes and dried our hands, Mihri brought coffee at Aysun's request. She was quite the coffee and cigarette enthusiast.

As we sat across from each other, I asked, "What do you mean by police squad?"

"My late son's fellow soldiers," she said, her eyes growing distant. "My son was a senior lieutenant. He went on duty but became a martyr. The twins were eleven at the time, and their mother was pregnant with Efe." She paused, collecting herself. "It's been seven years since I lost my son. My Güney wanted to be a soldier since he was just five years old. He achieved his dream, but his life was cut short. He used to say, 'Prepare yourselves, because when I become a soldier, I will become a martyr too.' And that's exactly what happened."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "My daughter-in-law loved him deeply and never recovered from his death. We lost her to cancer when Efe was three. When the children didn't want to continue their education after that, I opened this place and started running it."

"My condolences," I said softly. "May God grant you patience."

"Long live the nation," she responded with quiet dignity.

"What about your husband?" I asked, noticing her wedding ring. "You seem to be married."

"I am, dear. My husband is a carpenter named Tahsin. He has a shop in the industrial area. When Güney became a martyr, he immersed himself in his work, and I threw myself into this place. Somehow, we manage to provide both financial and emotional support to these children."

"Why didn't the children want to study?"

"Actually, both of them wanted to become soldiers, but we wouldn't allow it. So for now, they're helping us here. We'll see what profession they choose eventually."

"I see... May God be with you."

"Thank you, dear."

After our coffee break, Aysun added a few items to the menu while I prepared salads. I had been standing for hours, and my stitches were bothering me, but I hesitated to mention it. I didn't want to appear lazy on my first day, and I could hardly explain that I'd been shot by the Turkish Armed Forces in the heel...

Suddenly, Mert's voice rang out from the dining room. "Aysun Sultan, the police crew is here!"

Aysun dried her hands and went to greet them. I continued working in the kitchen, assuming there was nothing else for me to do. The sound of lively conversation and joking drifted in from the dining room. Soon, Aysun and Mert returned to the kitchen.

"Let's start serving. Sahra, dear, can you help? They're famished," Aysun said. I arranged the salads on plates and carried them out to the dining area.

Three tables had been pushed together to accommodate the group of soldiers. As I placed the salads down, I offered a general greeting: "Welcome." Then a familiar voice called out:

"Sahra!" I looked up to meet Gurur's surprised gaze.

"Oh, Gurur, welcome."

"Thank you, but what are you doing here?"

"I just started working here, for now."

"That's wonderful. Aysun is a good person. Good luck."

"Thanks," I said, turning away—only to collide with something solid. "Ah!" I exclaimed, pressing my hand to my forehead and looking up.

It was the captain who had shot me—the grumpy gorilla himself.

"Didn't I tell you not to cross my path?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm working. If you don't want me to cross your path, then don't come here. Also, watch where you're going," I retorted as I tried to pass him. He caught my arm, leaning in close.

"Listen, Afyon cream, something tells me your being here isn't a coincidence. My inner voice is never wrong."

"Then maybe your inner voice should keep quiet," I shot back, prompting laughter from the table. He turned to glare at them, and the laughter died instantly. Releasing my arm, he said:

"There's something about you, but I'll figure it out soon. If you cross my path outside of here a third time, it will be very bad for you."

"What will you do, shoot me in the heel again? Besides, I don't think you're important enough for someone to spy on."

"Not me, but my country is important."

"Don't worry, Captain. I'm not an agent or a traitor following you. I'm just an ordinary civilian—but a standout one," I replied with a pointed look before heading back to the kitchen. More laughter erupted behind me, and I glimpsed several people stepping outside, presumably to laugh freely.

Back in the kitchen, I decided to help Aysun rather than continue serving. The appetizers I'd made were already gone, and it was time for desserts and tea. Since everyone was tired from serving, I helped with the desserts while Mert handled the tea service. As I passed through carrying desserts, Gurur spoke up:

"Sahra—I mean, Miss Sahra, your foot," he said, pointing downward. I looked at my foot to find my wound had reopened, blood staining my pants and socks. Despite the pain, I hadn't noticed the bleeding.

Aysun asked with concern, "What happened to your foot, dear? It's common to see someone cut their hand on the first day, but never their foot."

The Captain interjected, "She didn't cut it, Aysun. I shot her. She was running toward the mines, I told her to stop, she thought I was joking and didn't stop, so I shot her to make her stop."

"You shot her?? Where did you shoot her??"

"Never mind, Aysun, these jokers will tell you the details. Let me get that wound checked," he said, rising from his seat.

Ignoring him, I asked, "Aysun, can I leave early today? The hostel I'm staying at is a bit far."

"Of course, dear. I wish I had known. You've been on your feet all day, and now your wound is bleeding. Are you staying at a hostel?"

"Yes, I'm looking for a house. Hopefully, I'll find one soon," I said, retrieving my things from the kitchen. As I walked toward the door, my foot throbbed, making me wince. I bid everyone good evening and left the restaurant, only to find the Captain smoking on the sidewalk.

I started walking past him without a word, but he called out, "Sahra, come here, get in the car. Let's get that wound dressed. It's still bleeding, and it'll get worse as you walk."

"No need. I won't cross your path; I'll handle it myself."

"From hairdressing to waitressing—are you a nurse now too?"

"I'm a jack of all trades, you know."

"Wow, impressive. Alright, get in the car. You can't stitch yourself up. Let's have it checked."

"I don't trust you. You shot me the first time we met. The second time, you had me arrested. I don't feel safe enough to get in your car right now."

"They entrusted me with the state. I'm a soldier, remember? Besides, if I hadn't shot you, you would have either entered a minefield or run into a group of terrorists. If I hadn't had you arrested, you would have been wandering around looking for a hostel in the dead of night. Thanks to me, you spent the night safe and warm."

"It could have been different. I could have stayed in a hospital, or Gurur could have arranged a hostel for me. Was the arrest really necessary?"

"It was, and you've come to your senses. For instance, yesterday we were on a field patrol, and no one ran in with their blonde hair flying."

"Haha, very funny. Remind me to laugh later."

He opened the car door and said, "Come on, Sahra, you're already limping. Just get in."

I crossed my arms. "If you ask more politely, I'll get in, but if you keep barking orders like I'm one of your soldiers, I'll handle it myself."

He took a deep breath and said, "God, give me patience. Sahra, will you just get in this damn car already?"

Realizing I'd pushed him too far, I quietly got in and sat down. He closed the door and took the driver's seat.

"Seatbelt," he said with a grin.

"Say, 'Would you put it on?'" I replied.

"Don't push it."

"You shot an innocent civilian like me in the heel. Let me push it—after all, I don't get shot every day."

"With a mouth like that, it's a wonder you haven't been shot every day. Please, Sahra, just put on that damn seatbelt before I end up doing something I regret." He started the car. I fastened the seatbelt, muttering under my breath:

"Your politeness is overwhelming."

"I can hear you; we're in the same car," he said, silencing me.

At the emergency room, it seemed everyone knew him. In the dressing room, a nurse discovered that three of my five stitches had come undone. She restitched the wound, dressed it, and bandaged it—all while stealing glances at the captain.

After the nurse left, the captain stood and asked, "I'm sure it hurts, but how do you feel?"

"Solid as a rock."

The captain gave a half-smile. "I'll take you back to the hostel. Don't put any more strain on your foot."

"I'll take a taxi back, no need."

"It's on my way; I'm heading back to the restaurant anyway," he said, and I didn't argue further.

We rode in silence; apparently, his nickname was 'Silent.' Gurur had mentioned he talked more with me than usual. During the drive, my phone rang—it was my aunt. I'd been anxiously awaiting her call. She'd given me strict instructions to only take her calls and never call her. If I missed this call, who knew when she'd have another chance to reach me. I answered:

"Hi, aunt."

"Sahra, how's it going?"

"I got a job, aunt. I'm working on a one-week trial period. I'll start looking for a house tomorrow."

I quickly updated her on my situation.

"Okay, dear, I need to tell you something, but I can't talk long right now."

"What happened, aunt?"

"Remember I said Ismail was acting strange? I was right. He's become some sort of mafia type, carrying a gun and knife, throwing money around since he arrived. I still don't know what he did there. His initial fearful demeanor is gone, and now he's after you. He said he bought a ticket to Antalya. He's gone there, looking for you. He told his father, 'Her honor is our honor. I'll bring her back and marry her, so she's not left in the middle. She'll be my religiously wedded wife. No one can say anything.'"

"He can go to hell. He should worry about his own honor first," I snapped, then remembered who was beside me and added, "Aunt, I'm not in a good place to talk. Can I call you back in ten minutes?"

"Don't call me; I'll call you when your uncle is asleep."

"Alright, take care, talk to you later."

"You take care of yourself, my dear. Be careful, we'll talk later," she said before hanging up.

No matter how wealthy Ismail might be, he wouldn't find me. He wasn't clever enough for that, but I still needed to be careful. My aunt needed to be cautious too. If necessary, she should get a second phone just for talking to me.

"We're here," said the man beside me.

"Thank you," I replied as I got out. I didn't say anything else, but I realized I'd never told him where I was staying. How had he known to bring me directly here?

He was quite a peculiar person. I hoped we wouldn't cross paths often. I already had enough problems without dealing with someone who constantly suspected me of being a spy or a traitor.

Back in my room, I changed my clothes and went straight to bed. My skincare routine would have to wait until morning. I fell asleep while waiting for my aunt to call. I didn't know when she'd be available again. My only wish was that we wouldn't get caught talking—it would be the end for both of us.

They wouldn't kill us, but they'd make our lives miserable.