Steps and Echoes

Gizem’s eyes fluttered open with the first light of morning, greeted by a gray sky seeping through her window. Three days had passed since that first morning—the one when she had ridden her bike to school, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. That moment now felt like a lifetime ago. She sat up in bed, pulling the blanket close to her, her fingers brushing against its soft fabric before she hesitated for a second. Rising to her feet, she stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing down her navy skirt, pressing the collar of her white shirt into place with her hand, and draping her cardigan over her shoulders. As she stared into her reflection, her gaze met her own, and a whisper rose from within: Three days, Gizem. Three whole days. What would I be doing if I were in Istanbul right now? I’d be laughing with Zeynep on the way to school, grabbing a warm simit from the bakery at the corner. But here—everything is so quiet, so unfamiliar. The sea is beautiful, yes, but this town… it feels like it wants to swallow me whole, like I’m going to disappear here.

As she brushed her hair, images of the town’s narrow streets filled her mind—the fishermen bustling along the shore, hands mending their nets, pine trees swaying in the wind, their rustling mixing with the salty air. Istanbul had been crowded but familiar; this place was empty yet heavy. I have to get into Boğaziçi. I have to study psychology. I want to understand why people are like this—why they’re so distant, so harsh. Maybe then, I’ll understand myself too. Maybe then, this weight will lift from my chest.

When she quietly opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, her mother, Nuray, had already set the breakfast table. A plate of toast rested on the counter, accompanied by olives and white cheese, while steam rose from the kettle, curling into the air. The familiar lines of worry were etched on Nuray’s face; her hair was tied back, her movements quick but controlled, as if she were always ready to fix something. As Gizem pulled out her chair, she caught her mother’s gaze—a searching, heavy look that settled on her shoulders like a weight.

Hakan sat at the other end of the table, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he buried himself in his newspaper. His tall frame slouched slightly in his chair, his quiet presence filling the space as it always did.

“Good morning,” Gizem said, her voice still thick with sleep as she reached for her fork.

Nuray looked up, her brows knitting together slightly. “Good morning, but you should’ve woken up earlier. Are you studying properly? The practice exam is coming up, you know.” Her voice carried a firm edge, but beneath it lay a deeper worry, as though she were trying to push Gizem toward something before it was too late.

Gizem thought to herself, Mom, I wish you could just stop for a moment. Mornings in Istanbul weren’t this rushed. We’d laugh over breakfast, you’d brush my hair. But instead, all she said was, “I know, Mom,” her tone soft but tired, as she took a bite of her toast.

Hakan glanced up from his newspaper, peering at her over his glasses. “One step at a time, Nuray,” he said, his voice calm and steady, his eyes meeting Gizem’s with a small, knowing smile. “She’s doing fine, isn’t she?”

Gizem shot him a grateful look. “Yes, Dad,” she murmured, but inside, she thought: I wish everything could happen one step at a time. Here, everything feels too fast, too sharp.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder and left the breakfast table, she grabbed her bike and stepped out the door. The morning air was crisp as she pedaled through the town’s narrow streets, the wind stinging her face, the scent of the sea filling her lungs. The streetlights still flickered in the early morning gloom, fishermen were hauling in their nets, and a stray cat ambled lazily past a trash bin.

This place is strange, she thought. Mornings in Istanbul were always crowded—honking horns, people rushing. But here, it was as if time had stopped, yet an invisible weight still pressed down on everything. As her bike’s tires bounced lightly over the cobbled road, her mind drifted toward the future: Boğaziçi University. Psychology. If I make it there, everything will change, right? I’ll be able to see through people, understand why they act the way they do—Pınar’s mockery, my mother’s worry, my father’s silence. Maybe then, I’ll understand myself too. Maybe then, I won’t feel so lost here.

As the school building came into view, she slowed her pace. The gray concrete structure, with its wide windows and towering fence, still felt foreign, but the sharp fear of that first day had dulled into something resembling acceptance. Students clustered in the yard—some laughing, some chatting with their backpacks tossed carelessly on the ground. She locked her bike, swung her bag over her shoulder, and walked with steadier steps, though her fingers remained tightly clenched around the strap.

The bell rang, and the corridors filled with hurried footsteps and overlapping voices. Old posters fluttered on the walls—a math olympiad announcement, a theater club flyer—swaying gently in the draft. This school is chaos, she thought. But wasn’t my school in Istanbul just the same? Everyone was competing there too. At least it was familiar. Here, it feels like a constant test, like I have to prove something every second.

When she pushed open the door to 12-A, the noise dipped for a brief moment, but unlike the first day, all eyes didn’t turn to her this time. With the quiet habit formed over three days, she walked to her desk and set her bag down. In the corner, Pınar and Beste whispered to each other, sneaking glances at her before giggling. Pınar flicked her long black hair, her eyes glinting with sharp amusement, while Beste’s laughter cut through the air like a knife.

At the front, Emre leaned back in his chair, ruffling his messy hair, while Mert stood beside him with his hands in his pockets, his posture loose and lazy. In the far corner, Beyza sat with her short brown hair falling over her face, sketching something in her notebook—calm as always. Selin, focused on checking the class records, had her glasses sliding down her nose, her expression serious. Near the window, Kaan stared out at the gray sky, hood pulled up, music leaking softly from his headphones.

Emre grinned when he spotted Gizem. “So, is the clown legend still alive?” His voice carried an easy mischief as he tapped the desk lightly.

Mert laughed and added, “She’s immortal now, look at her!”

It wasn’t like this in Istanbul, Gizem thought. The jokes were softer there, no one pushed this hard. But outwardly, she only lowered her head slightly, ignoring them as she sat down.

Selin glanced up, frowning. “Enough. Are you guys kids or what?” she snapped, her voice sharp but weary.

Mert smirked. “Still trying to give orders, Your Majesty?”

Selin clenched her teeth. “And you’re still lazy, Mert!” she shot back, slamming the class records onto the desk.

Gizem picked up her pen and flipped open her notebook. This class is a theater, everyone playing a part. It was the same in Istanbul, but I felt stronger there. Here, it’s like I have to prove myself constantly—or I’ll disappear.

As the chaos of the classroom continued, her gaze drifted to Beyza for a moment. Her quiet presence was oddly comforting. At least she’s here, Gizem thought. Maybe this town isn’t so bad after all.

When the bell rang for the break, Gizem stepped into the corridor, wanting to get some fresh air. As she was walking through the crowd, she suddenly heard a noise. Two students from the 11th grade were arguing in the canteen over a drink that had been spilled by accident. One, tall, had thrown his backpack on the ground and was shouting angrily; the other, short, was waving his hands around, trying to defend himself. A small crowd had gathered around them, and laughter and murmurs filled the air.

“Watch where you're going, I’m all soaked!” yelled the tall one, his voice full of anger.

“You bumped into me, is it my fault?” the short one retorted, his face red.

A supervising teacher quickly approached, walking briskly. “Move along, now!” she shouted, her voice firm but tired, pushing the crowd aside with her hand.

Gizem watched from a distance, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed. There are fights in Istanbul too, she thought, But here, everyone seems angrier. Why are they so tense? If I studied psychology, I’d understand this, I’d figure out why people act this way. Maybe one day, at Boğaziçi, sitting in an auditorium, I’ll take notes about this, maybe then everything will make sense. As the crowd dispersed, she turned her steps toward her class, but there was an uneasiness inside her, as if this town was trying to teach her something, but she just couldn’t grasp it yet.

In the afternoon, the Turkish lesson had begun. A poem was written on the board, and the teacher was reading the verses in a monotonous voice, while the class had sunk into a half-sleepy silence. As Gizem took notes in her notebook, she noticed Pınar and Beste whispering. They were both looking at her and giggling, holding a piece of paper in their hands. When the lesson ended and the break bell rang, Pınar quickly approached Gizem’s desk and placed the paper on it.

“You dropped this, I think,” Pınar said, her voice laced with fake politeness, a sharp smile on her lips. Beste giggled behind her, her eyes gleaming.

Gizem was surprised, taking the paper into her hand. “It’s not mine,” she muttered, but Pınar had already winked at Beste and walked away.

The paper said, “The guidance counselor is waiting for you, urgent!” with a small cartoon drawn underneath—an image of a clown resembling Gizem’s face. Gizem furrowed her brows, thinking: Again? In Istanbul, there wouldn’t be jokes like this, why are they targeting me here? She was suspicious but gave in to her curiosity and decided to go to the guidance office. As she hurried through the corridor, her mind was in turmoil: Maybe there really is something, maybe this time it’s serious. But what if it’s another joke? At Boğaziçi, things like this wouldn’t happen, would they? Everyone would be more mature, less cruel. When she knocked on the door, the guidance counselor looked at her with a surprised expression.

“I didn’t call you,” the teacher said, her voice tinged with mild surprise, her eyebrows raised.

Gizem’s face dropped, and when she turned back to the corridor, Pınar and Beste were laughing at her. A part of the class was also laughing, Emre was hitting the desk, and Mert was whistling.

“How easy it was to fool her!” Pınar shouted, her voice full of mocking triumph.

Beste couldn’t hold back her laughter, “Did you become the guidance counselor’s girlfriend now?”

Emre interrupted, “This girl is so naive, it’s legendary!”

Mert laughed. “Not a clown, but the counselor’s assistant!”

Gizem’s cheeks turned red with embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears, but she clenched her lips tightly to prevent herself from crying. Why is it always me? she thought. If I were in Istanbul, this wouldn’t happen, my friends would be with me. Here, everything feels like a battle, everyone is an enemy. If I studied psychology, would I understand this? Why are they so cruel? She lowered her head and returned to her seat, her hands trembling, her heart tightening in her chest like a fist.

At that moment, Beyza quietly came over to her, holding out a handkerchief. Her short brown hair had fallen over her face, and there was a calm understanding in her eyes.

“Don’t mind them,” said Beyza, her voice soft but firm. “It’s just stupidity, nothing else.”

Gizem took the handkerchief, her throat tight. “Why do they always do this to me?” she whispered, her voice fragile, her eyes drifting to Beyza.

Beyza shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’ll pass. I had a hard time at first too; they always pick on someone.” A small smile spread across her face. “Let’s go down to the garden, we’ll get away for a while.”

Gizem nodded, threw her bag over her shoulder, and walked down the corridor with Beyza. When they sat on a bench in the garden, the wind hit their faces, and the scent of the sea mixed with the air. Beyza took out her notebook, opened a page, and showed it to Gizem—a delicate flower drawing made with thin lines.

“I did this yesterday,” said Beyza, a shy pride in her voice. “What do you think?”

Gizem looked at the drawing, a warmth spreading inside her. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice full of gratitude. “I used to draw in Istanbul too, but it feels like I’ve forgotten about it here.”

Beyza smiled. “We can do it together, if you want. Sometimes I escape from this chaos like that.”

Gizem looked at her, Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all, she thought. In Istanbul, I had friends, but Beyza is different. It’s like she really sees me. “Sure,” she said. “I’d love it if you could teach me.” As the two of them talked and laughed, the heaviness inside Gizem lifted a little.

When the bell rang, they returned to the class, but Pınar and Beste were still giggling, and Mert and Emre were joking around.

As Gizem packed her bag, she accidentally dropped Pınar’s notebook.

Pınar turned angrily. “Watch where you’re going!” Her voice had a sharp edge to it.

Gizem hurriedly said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” her voice trembling.

Beyza stepped in, “It’s fine, it’ll pass,” she said softly, gently touching Gizem’s arm and giving her a supportive look.

When she arrived home, the sun had set, and the town’s silence settled heavily on the wooden floor of the house. When Gizem opened the door and stepped inside, the weight of exhaustion fell on her shoulders, and the traces of the prank still lingered on her face. Nuray poked her head out from the kitchen, holding a plate, her eyebrows furrowing immediately.

“Why do you look so down?” she asked, her voice filled with both curiosity and a hint of anger.

Gizem thought to herself: Mom, I wish you were as relaxed as in Istanbul, and didn’t ask so many questions. But on the outside, she said, “It’s just a small thing at school,” her voice tired.

Nuray pressed on. “Tell me, Gizem, this year is important!” There was deep concern in her voice, and her eyes were scanning her daughter.

Hakan lifted his head from the couch. “Let her rest a bit, Nuray,” he said, his voice calm but supportive, giving Gizem a small smile.

Gizem retreated to her room, dropped her bag on the floor, and sat on her bed. She opened her journal, took her pen, and poured out her thoughts as she wrote: Day 4: The gossip never ends, the jokes won’t leave me alone. If I were in Istanbul, I’d be laughing with Zeynep, but here I’m gritting my teeth. But Beyza is here, she changes everything. My dream of Boğaziçi is still with me, I’ll study psychology, I’ll overcome this town. She looked out the window at the sea, the sound of waves gently coming from afar filling her room. Istanbul was crowded but familiar, this place is quiet but foreign. Maybe one day, while sitting in a lecture hall at Boğaziçi, I’ll understand it all—why I’m like this, why this town is making me struggle so much.

She lay down on her bed, closing her eyes, and thought to herself: This town is hard, but I won’t give up. I have a friend like Beyza, that’s enough. Maybe one day I’ll come to love this place too, maybe one day I’ll find myself. The dream of Boğaziçi appeared in her mind, and with a small spark of hope, she drifted off to sleep.