The Silent Soldier's Fugitive

Episode 4 "New Home"

Sahra Aydemir

I woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested. The dressing had helped ease my wrist pain, and the painkiller had ensured a good night's sleep. Being someone who takes pride in their work ethic, I got up and prepared quickly, not wanting anyone to think I was slacking off.

When I arrived at the restaurant, walking briskly as usual, I called out cheerfully, "Good morning!"

Mert was arranging chairs and looked up with concern. "Good morning, Sister Sahra... but you shouldn't have come. Ortaç told me about your stitches."

"I'm fine, dear Mert, thank you," I assured him.

Aysun poked her head out from the kitchen. "Good morning, Sahra! I wanted to tell you to rest today, but I didn't have your number. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"I'm perfectly fine, don't worry."

"Well, come on then—breakfast is ready. Let's eat and chat a bit."

"Okay, Aysun," I replied, walking over.

A little voice in my head wondered if Commander Ortaç had tried to sabotage my position here by telling Aysun not to let me work, but I'd find out soon enough.

After hanging up my coat and bag, I sat at the table, checking my phone for any missed calls from my aunt. Mihri brought tea, and we all settled in. Aysun spoke first.

"Sahra, why didn't you tell us about your injury yesterday? You were on your feet all day, dear. If we'd known, we wouldn't have pushed you so hard, especially given how busy it was."

"Well, Aysun, I didn't want you to think I was shirking on my first day. Besides, it only hurt a little—I thought that was normal."

"It's clear you're not one to slack off," she said warmly. "Look how you jumped in with service and dishes without being asked. I need someone who takes initiative like that. You have a maturity beyond your years and manage things well. Yesterday was busy, and sometimes it gets even busier. If you're not planning to return to hairdressing, let's forget the trial period and discuss salary."

I woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested. The dressing had helped ease my wrist pain, and the painkiller had ensured a good night's sleep. Being someone who takes pride in their work ethic, I got up and prepared quickly, not wanting anyone to think I was slacking off.

When I arrived at the restaurant, walking briskly as usual, I called out cheerfully, "Good morning!"

Mert was arranging chairs and looked up with concern. "Good morning, Sister Sahra... but you shouldn't have come. Ortaç told me about your stitches."

"I'm fine, dear Mert, thank you," I assured him.

Aysun poked her head out from the kitchen. "Good morning, Sahra! I wanted to tell you to rest today, but I didn't have your number. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"I'm perfectly fine, don't worry."

"Well, come on then—breakfast is ready. Let's eat and chat a bit."

"Okay, Aysun," I replied, walking over.

A little voice in my head wondered if Commander Ortaç had tried to sabotage my position here by telling Aysun not to let me work, but I'd find out soon enough.

After hanging up my coat and bag, I sat at the table, checking my phone for any missed calls from my aunt. Mihri brought tea, and we all settled in. Aysun spoke first.

"Sahra, why didn't you tell us about your injury yesterday? You were on your feet all day, dear. If we'd known, we wouldn't have pushed you so hard, especially given how busy it was."

"Well, Aysun, I didn't want you to think I was shirking on my first day. Besides, it only hurt a little—I thought that was normal."

"It's clear you're not one to slack off," she said warmly. "Look how you jumped in with service and dishes without being asked. I need someone who takes initiative like that. You have a maturity beyond your years and manage things well. Yesterday was busy, and sometimes it gets even busier. If you're not planning to return to hairdressing, let's forget the trial period and discuss salary."

"No, Aysun, I'm not going back to hairdressing. This place feels right for me. Besides, I've handled busier days at the salon, so don't worry about me."

"I understand, dear. Let's talk about your salary then. While I can't match what you earned as a hairdresser, I'll make sure you're well taken care of, both with insurance and pay."

"About the insurance, Auntie—could we hold off on that? There's something I need to check first. As for the salary, I'd be grateful for anything that covers my rent and isn't too burdensome for you, given Sarıkamış's conditions. You know this town better than I do, so I trust your judgment."

We reached an agreement on the salary—less than I made at the salon but more than I'd expected. Mert chimed in with a laugh, "Don't underestimate our local restaurant, Sister Sahra. We almost cover my grandfather's shop expenses from here!"

Looking at Aysun, I asked, "Auntie, would it be alright if I left early today to look for a place? The boarding house is quite far, and I'd prefer something closer to the restaurant."

Before Aysun could answer, Mert suggested, "Uncle Orhan's house would be perfect for Sister Sahra."

Aysun nodded enthusiastically. "It's the warmest house in Kars. The children built it for their sick mother—practically extending her life. Thermal insulation, soundproofing, elevator, balcony... everything's perfect. They rented out the lower floor before—it came furnished too. But the previous tenant had some issues and damaged all the furniture. They've replaced everything but haven't dared rent it again. We could go look after work. If it doesn't work out, we'll help you find something else."

"I hope it works out," I said eagerly. "Furnished and warm sounds perfect."

"It's a two-bedroom place, just right for you. Being smaller means it's easier to heat and clean."

After breakfast, the day passed quietly. I managed the appetizers and desserts again, helping with service and dishes when needed. The slower pace and frequent breaks meant my wrist barely bothered me.

We closed early, and Aysun and I headed to Uncle Orhan's place while the twins went to the market. As we approached the street, Aysun pointed ahead. "That's it—the apartment building. It's a family complex."

"It looks lovely and well-maintained," I observed.

"Wait until you see inside," she smiled as we walked up. The three-story building had an attractive gray-and-white facade, with glass-enclosed balconies. Six apartments in total, two per floor, with the ground floor units being two bedrooms.

Taking the elevator to the top floor, Aysun explained, "I hope Orçun is here—he'll be your landlord."

"Where is he usually?"

"He's a SAT Commando. Always on duty. His father was also military, retired as a Major when his wife developed kidney problems."

"Oh, she has kidney issues?"

"Yes, she never caught it early. Now she needs dialysis twice weekly. She's always cold, so they demolished the old house here and built this family complex—it's like a small palace. All three children pitched in."

"How wonderful of them," I said softly.

When we reached the apartment, the door was already open—they'd heard the doorbell from downstairs. Aysun explained that Uncle Orhan was probably tending to his wife and that we should go in. Following her lead, we removed our shoes and settled in the living room.

Minutes later, a woman around Aysun's age entered in pajamas, supported by a distinguished-looking man. Despite his age, he carried himself with remarkable grace.

"Welcome, ladies," the woman greeted warmly.

"Thank you, dear Oya. You're looking well, thank God," Aysun replied.

"I'm managing, thank you," she said as they sat across from us.

Meeting her eyes, I said, "Get well soon, may God grant you healing. I'm Sahra."

"MashaAllah, Sahra, you're beautiful. Welcome, dear. I hear you're looking for a place?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've just arrived and need somewhere to stay."

Orhan spoke up, "I understand you're working for Aysun. Where are you from, child? What brings you here? Not a civil servant, I take it?"

"I'm from Afyon, sir. No, not a civil servant—I'm a hairdresser by trade, but I needed a change. Personal circumstances brought me here."

"And you chose Kars—couldn't have picked a place more different from Afyon."

"It wasn't planned that way. I just started traveling and ended up here."

He smiled. "The apartment belongs to my son. As luck would have it, he's in town for duty—something came up that's keeping him here longer than expected. I've told him you're coming; he should be here soon to discuss it. If he agrees, you can see the place."

"I hope he does. Being close to work would be ideal."

"It's all about fate. Perhaps when he sees you, he'll be convinced," he said just as we heard the door open.

"That's my son now," Oya announced. We all turned to see two men in military uniforms enter—one was Commander Ortaç, but I didn't recognize the other.

Seeing me, Ortaç demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" I shot back, making everyone laugh except Ortaç and me.

"This is my house, my parents," he gestured to the couple on the couch.

"Well, it's about to be my house too. I'm here about the ground floor apartment."

"Not. You can't handle it," he declared.

Before I could respond, the other soldier stepped forward. "I'm the owner, not my brother." He extended his hand. "Hello, I'm Orçun, your new landlord."

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

"I know you—I was there that night with the team when you thought my brother was joking and ran into the field."

"Oh... I see. I'm sorry about that."

"How's your ankle? My brother's a good shot—says he aimed to graze."

"Yes, just a graze... I can walk without limping now."

"Glad you're better. Shall we look at the apartment? If you like it, we can discuss terms."

"Alright," I agreed, but Ortaç interrupted.

"Don't bother. She won't take it."

"Why not?" I challenged.

"Because I live here too. We'd constantly run into each other, and I clearly warned you about that."

"And I gave you my answer, Commander."

Orçun laughed. "Sahra, promise to always drive my brother crazy like this, and you can live here rent-free." His brother kicked him, and I instinctively protested, "Hey, don't hit him!"

Orçun laughed harder. "The place is yours—indefinite lease."

"Never happening," Ortaç growled, but their mother Oya intervened.

"Enough, Ortaç, you're giving me a headache. Sahra, dear, take a look at the place. If you like it, work it out with Orçun."

Ortaç grumbled something unintelligible as he sat where his mother indicated. I followed Orçun downstairs. After touring the apartment, I was delighted.

"It's perfect! For a place this nice, I'd happily drive your brother insane," I grinned.

"You certainly have the talent for it," he chuckled. "Just throw a jab whenever you see him—he'll lose it immediately." We shared a laugh and settled on the rent, which was surprisingly reasonable for such a lovely place. I suspected I'd make up the difference by annoying his brother.

The apartment had a living room, bedroom, and spare room, furnished with a tasteful navy blue and cream living room set and standard bedroom furniture. It came with a washing machine, refrigerator, and built-in kitchen, though no dishwasher—not that I minded, being single. I'd need to get my kitchenware, but all the window treatments were modern roller blinds, and the rugs matched beautifully throughout.

I liked my landlord immediately, though the commander seemed problematic. Perhaps becoming neighbors would soften his attitude—he might even need my help someday.

Upstairs, everyone was having coffee, and the commander had changed into civilian clothes—a black t-shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide his impressive physique. I pretended not to notice how his muscles strained against the shirt's sleeves.

After a brief getting-to-know-you session with Orhan and Oya—during which the commander seemed unusually attentive to my answers—Aysun needed to leave, and we said our goodbyes. As I opened the garden gate, I heard, "Sahraaa!" Turning, I found the commander approaching. He addressed Aysun politely, "Sister, could you spare us a moment?"

"I'll head straight to the boarding house," I told Aysun, involuntarily glancing at the commander in his thin shirt. "Don't wait in the cold."

Once Aysun left, he spoke. "Listen, hairdresser, I don't know or care about your family issues. But if they cause problems for my family, detention will be the least of your worries."

"Just shoot me and be done with it—we'll both be free then. What's your problem with me? What did I ever do to you? You treat me like a terrorist. Is this some kind of professional paranoia? Or signs of a midlife crisis?"

"Are you calling me old?"

"I'm not implying it—I'm stating it outright. All this suspicion must be early senility setting in."

"I could prove how young and vigorous I am—show you I could outdo any of the young men around you. But you couldn't handle it."

"I don't care if you're ancient or fresh-faced. Just leave me alone. And what exactly couldn't I handle?"

"Your back would break," he said suggestively, and I caught his meaning.

"You rude, arrogant... Just pretend you don't see me when we cross paths. Don't play neighbor with me. Don't come knocking for sugar or salt. Stay away."

As I stormed off, he called after me, "We'll see who ends up playing neighbor with whom, Afyon Cream."

Without turning back, I waved dismissively, as if to say he'd be waiting a long time.

The man stubbornly refused to use my name, always calling me either "Afyon delight" or "hairdresser." I desperately needed to come up with a nickname for him in return... but what would suit someone so rude and arrogant? While "grumpy ape" came to mind, I needed something I could say to his face...