Rhythm of Place

Gizem and Beyza were sitting on the beach, their feet buried in the sand, as the waves gently lapped at the shore before retreating. The sea stretched out like a gray blanket, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple, seagulls gliding across the horizon. Gizem took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill her lungs, then turned to Beyza.
“This place… I don’t know, sometimes it feels nice,” she said, her voice carrying both exhaustion and acceptance. Her eyes drifted to the waves as she traced a small line in the sand with her fingers.

Beyza had her knees pulled up to her chest, her short brown hair swaying slightly in the breeze.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice calm yet sincere. “Sometimes even silence tells a story.” She drew a small circle in the sand with a stick, her gaze fixed on the sea before she smiled gently. “Looking at this for the project… feels like we’ve found something.”

Gizem nodded. “You’re right,” she said with a tone of agreement, pulling out her notebook from her bag and jotting down a few notes. “The trash on the beach… maybe it tells a story.” She wrote a few more words with her pen before closing the notebook and looking towards the horizon. The sky was darkening; as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the town’s lights began to twinkle in the distance.
“Shall we go?” she asked, a hint of movement in her voice. She stood up, brushed the sand off her hands, and adjusted her cardigan.

Beyza smiled. “Alright,” she said with a soft cheerfulness, rising to her feet as well. They walked towards their bikes, unfastened them from a tree trunk, and started pedaling. The wind hit their faces, tossing their hair as they rode through the narrow streets of the town, where streetlights flickered on one by one.

Gizem thought to herself: This town… it’s a strange place. But it feels like it’s offering me something. She pedaled faster, inhaling the town’s scent—salt, pine, and a faint trace of smoke.

After riding through a few streets, they were drawn to the sound of music and laughter coming from a corner near the beach. They were passing by a shabby little place, once an old fisherman’s hut, now a makeshift café—wooden tables outside, tea glasses, plates of fries, and a few empty soda cans scattered across them. From inside, the crackling sound of an old radio seeped into the night, filling the air with a familiar melody.
Beyza slowed down. “Those sounds…” she murmured with curiosity, her eyes drawn to the place.

Gizem also stopped, turning her head. “Who’s there?” she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice, her gaze catching the glow of the café’s windows. Intrigued, they approached, leaning their bikes against a nearby post before pushing the door open.

Inside, they found most of their classmates gathered—Pınar and Beste sat at a table, laughing loudly at something; Pınar’s long black hair cascaded over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief, while Beste’s laughter filled the space, a fry dangling between her fingers.

At another table, Emre and Mert were joking around, tea glasses in hand. Emre’s messy hair fell over his forehead, while Mert leaned back with his hands in his pockets, grinning lazily.

Selin sat in the corner, glasses slipping down her nose as she scribbled in a notebook, her face serious yet carrying a faint smile at the edge of her lips.

Kaan, wearing a hoodie, sat at the edge of a table, his headphones dangling around his neck, staring into his tea as if lost in thought, though his eyes occasionally flickered toward the conversation.

Ece, short and bespectacled, sat quietly at the middle table, sketching something with delicate strokes; her fine hair fell over her face, her fingers slightly trembling as she held her pencil.

Zeynep, long-haired and full of energy, stood near Pınar and Beste, gesturing animatedly as she spoke, her voice carrying over the chatter.

Can, broad-shouldered with short hair, sat by the window, watching something on his phone, letting out occasional bursts of laughter while twirling a soda can in his hand.

Yiğit sat at the back, his tall frame slouched against the chair, dark brown hair falling over his forehead. A tea glass and a mechanical pencil rested in his hand, which he spun absentmindedly between his fingers, his gaze drifting toward the radio, his lips subtly moving as if humming along to the song.

Emre was the first to notice them. “Oh look, the new girl and Beyza have arrived!” he announced, grinning as he playfully smacked the table, raising his tea glass in a mock toast.

Pınar smirked. “Come on, take a seat. Did you two get lost at the beach?” she teased, glancing at Beste before giggling and popping a fry into her mouth.

Beste nodded knowingly. “Are you saving the environment again, our eco-friendly heroes?” she joked, her laughter filling the table as she grabbed a soda can.

Gizem rolled her eyes. “Maybe,” she replied, her voice carrying a calm challenge. She and Beyza stepped closer, pulling out chairs.
“Do you guys always hang out here?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, as she placed her bag on the table.

Beyza, with a shy smile, added, “Is it always this crowded?”

Zeynep put her hands on her hips. “Yep, this is our place,” she said with energetic cheer, her long hair slipping over her shoulder. “After school, we usually come here. This is the center of the town.” She gestured animatedly before leaning onto the table.

Can looked up from his phone. “It’s our escape,” he said with a deep chuckle, setting his soda down. “School’s suffocating. This place saves us.”

As Gizem sat down, she glanced around and thought to herself: This many people… The class feels like a whole different world here. She picked up a tea glass, the warmth spreading through her palms.
“What were you guys talking about?” she asked, looking around the table with interest.

Mert grinned. “The festival,” he said in a teasing tone, taking a sip of his tea. “It starts next week. Haven’t you heard?”

Gizem raised an eyebrow. “Festival?” she echoed, surprise in her voice, as she turned her gaze to Mert, setting her tea glass down.

Emre laughed. “Yeah, new girl, it’s the biggest event at school!” he declared triumphantly. “Soccer, basketball, singing, writing, painting… everything’s in it. The liveliest time in town.” He playfully smacked the table, his laughter ringing through the room.

Pınar leaned in. “Beste and I won the dance competition last year,” she said, pride lacing her voice as she threw a wink at Beste. “Nobody could keep up with us, not even the teacher.”

Beste nodded. “Yep, and it’ll be the same this year,” she added, her laughter filling the space as she grabbed another fry, grinning as she tossed it into her mouth. “Our choreography is already set.”

Gizem was intrigued. “Dance? So, does everyone participate in something?” she asked, scanning the table, curiosity evident in her tone as she took another sip of tea.

Kaan took off his headphones and placed them on the table. “I came in second with the guitar,” he said, his voice low but clear, his eyes drifting to the tea glass. “First place was tough, but it wasn’t bad.”

Ece lifted her head slightly. “I won something with my photographs,” she said, her voice thin but proud. Her eyes returned to her notebook, and she drew a line with her pen. “Everyone was surprised.”

Can burst into laughter. “Everyone messes up at something,” he said, his voice full of deep amusement. “For example, Mert and Emre were a disaster in basketball—they threw the ball into the stands!”

Mert slammed the table. “You should’ve played too; then we’d see!” he said, his voice carrying a lazy frustration. His eyes locked onto Can as he placed his tea glass down firmly.

Emre grinned. “Even the coach laughed. When Mert threw the ball out, he said, ‘What kind of shot was that!’” he said, leaning on the table with laughter, a mischievous look on his face as he grabbed a French fry.

Selin raised her head and frowned. “Are you guys always like this?” she asked, her voice carrying a tired irritation. She placed her notebook on the table, but her eyes were smiling. “Can’t you be a little serious?”

Zeynep laughed. “Selin, don’t forget, you also fought with Mert over a project last year,” she said, her voice playfully teasing. “The teacher had a hard time separating you two!”

Mert shrugged. “That was Selin’s fault,” he said, his voice filled with mockery. His eyes dropped to the table as he leaned back in his chair.

Selin rolled her eyes. “It would’ve been enough if you were actually useful,” she said, her voice sharp with warning. She placed her tea glass on the table, the corner of her lips curling into a smile.

Beste jumped in. “You two are just like a couple!” she said, her laughter filling the table. She turned to Pınar, giggling. “Maybe you should enter the dance contest at the festival?”

Mert’s face turned red. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, his voice rising with embarrassment-fueled anger. He shifted in his chair and slammed his hand on the table.

Selin buried her head in her notebook. “You’re all crazy,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and irritated. Her cheeks were flushed, but she was trying to suppress a laugh.

Gizem smiled. “Are these competitions always like this?” she asked, curiosity in her voice. She looked around at the others, spinning her tea glass in her hand. “Does everyone participate in something?”

Yiğit placed his tea glass on the table for a moment. “Everyone finds something,” he said, his voice calm but firm, twirling a mechanical pencil between his fingers. “Last year, I helped organize the football team. It wasn’t bad.” His eyes briefly flicked to the radio. An old song was playing, and he quietly hummed along—the words forming softly on his lips but never fully escaping—before he fell silent again and scratched a small mark onto the table with his pencil.

Gizem looked at him, thinking to herself: Football? And this song… He’s interesting. Her eyes lingered on the pencil in Yiğit’s hand. “Do you participate in everything too?” she asked, curiosity lacing her voice. She took a sip of her tea, her gaze resting on Yiğit.

Yiğit shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said, humility in his voice. He scratched another mark on the table with his pencil. “My dad works by the shore, my mom’s in the city… They both add something, I guess.” His eyes flicked to the table for a second, then back to the radio. He seemed to be humming along again, but he stopped. “Music… It’s not like the radio, though.”

Beyza spoke softly. “Yiğit is always like this,” she said, smiling, turning to Gizem and whispering. “He doesn’t talk much, but he does things.”

Gizem nodded. “I see,” she said, a thoughtfulness in her voice as she studied Yiğit. She thought to herself: Both on the field and here… He has a different side. Calm, but something else, too. But she didn’t dwell on it. “So, what are you all doing for the festival this year?” she asked, curiosity in her voice as she turned to the group.

Emre grinned. “We’ll try basketball again, but we’ll probably mess it up with Mert,” he said, laughing as he slammed the table. “Maybe I should just do comedy instead. That’d be better!”

Mert rolled his eyes. “Just learn how to pass the ball, that’s enough,” he said, his voice carrying a lazy sarcasm as he twirled his tea glass in his hand.

Pınar laughed. “We’ll win again with our dance performance,” she said, her voice filled with confident cheer. “You guys can just watch.”

Kaan shrugged. “I’ll do something with the guitar,” he said, his voice calm and determined. “Last time wasn’t bad.”

Ece said softly, “I’ll enter with my photographs again,” her voice carrying excitement as she drew another line in her notebook.

Can lifted his head. “I’ll be the host and bring the stage to life!” he declared, bursting into laughter as he slammed his soda can on the table.

As the conversation deepened, a loud noise came from outside—a crash, followed by laughter, shouting, and the sound of something rolling.

Emre immediately jumped up. “What’s going on?” he asked, mischief in his voice as he rushed to the door, leaving his tea glass on the table.

Mert followed behind him. “Did someone break something?” he asked, his voice carrying his usual lazy amusement as he pushed the door open.

The group turned their attention toward the door, curiosity pulling them up from their seats. Gizem and Beyza also got up and stepped outside.

In the narrow alley beside the venue, a group of kids had let an old skateboard roll down a ramp, but they had lost control. The skateboard sped forward, crashing into one of the wooden tables. The table toppled over, tea glasses spilled onto the ground, fries scattered everywhere, and a soda can rolled away, disappearing into the street.

The kids, laughing, scattered and ran, but one of them had left their backpack under the fallen table. The skateboard, unable to stop, crashed into a parked bicycle. The bicycle fell onto another, setting off a chain reaction—several bicycles collapsed like dominoes, their chains and wheels tangling together.

Zeynep laughed. “What is this?” she said, her voice bursting with energy, hands on her hips. “The town’s new form of entertainment?”

Beste grinned. “This is our classic!” she said, her laughter filling the air as she turned to Pınar with a giggle. “Something like this happened last summer too!”

Emre and Mert approached the fallen table. “Who did this?” Emre shouted, his voice a mix of laughter and mock anger as he picked up the skateboard and held it up in the air. “Come on, if you dare!”

Mert shrugged. “They already ran away,” he said, a lazy mockery in his voice. He kicked the table, but the skateboard slipped from his hand, fell to the ground, rolled again, and this time hit a chair leg. The chair wobbled, another tea glass on the table fell to the floor, shattered, and glass shards scattered around.

Can burst into laughter. “You two are a total disaster!” he said, a deep joy in his voice. He took out his phone and started recording. “This needs to be captured!”

Selin rolled her eyes. “Idiots,” she muttered, but a smile appeared at the corner of her lips. She stepped outside and picked up the broken glass. “Who’s going to clean this up now?”

Pınar grinned. “Let’s leave it to Mert and Emre,” she said, a teasing delight in her voice, leaning on the table. “They started it.”

Emre laughed. “Me? The skateboard isn’t even mine!” he said, a playful defense in his voice, tossing the skateboard onto the table.

Yiğit calmly got up from the table, stepped outside, and lifted the overturned table, noticing the wobbling planks. He picked up the bag from the ground. “We’ll return this to its owner,” he said, a quiet determination in his voice, placing the bag aside and dusting off its fabric with his hand. Then, he examined a broken plank of the table, lightly tapping it with his mechanical pencil. “I can fix this,” he said, a faint smile in his voice, his eyes scanning the wood. He ran his pencil along the edge of the plank. “It needs a few screws, but it’ll work.”

Gizem looked at him and thought: So calm… And fixing things? He really is interesting. She watched Yiğit’s movements, gripping her tea glass tightly. “Do you always do this?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, stepping closer to Yiğit.

Yiğit lifted his head. “Sometimes,” he said humbly, making a small scratch on the plank with his pencil. “When something breaks… Fixing it feels good.” His eyes briefly met Gizem’s before returning to the table, a smile appearing on his lips.

Kaan also stepped outside, picked up the skateboard, and said in a low but clear voice, “I know this. Someone from the streets made it; it always causes chaos.” He placed the skateboard next to the table, shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at the bicycles. “Those got mixed up too.”

Ece murmured, “The bikes are gone,” a note of surprise in her voice. Her glasses slid down her nose as she bent to pick up the scattered glass shards, but a piece grazed her hand. “Oh!” she muttered, pulling her hand back.

Beyza immediately went to her. “Are you okay?” she asked with concern, looking at Ece’s hand. “It’s not deep, but be careful.”

Gizem also stepped closer. “Do you need anything?” she asked, a willingness to help in her voice, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a tissue, handing it to Ece.

Ece smiled. “Thanks,” she said gratefully, taking the tissue and wrapping her hand.

Pınar grinned. “New girl, welcome to town!” she said, a teasing amusement in her voice, giggling as she turned to Gizem. “Everything’s like this here.”

Gizem laughed. “Does this kind of thing always happen?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, turning to Beyza and placing her tea glass on the table.

Beyza smiled. “Once in a while,” she said, a calm delight in her voice. “But you get used to it. Even the chaos starts feeling normal.”

The group returned inside with laughter. The tables were put back in order, the broken glass was swept aside, and the conversation continued for a while longer.

Gizem was trying to understand the festival. “So, does everyone participate?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, taking a sip of her tea and looking at the others.

Emre grinned. “Everyone tries something,” he said mischievously. “But most fail. For example, Mert and I in basketball…”

Mert cut him off. “Learn how to pass, and we won’t mess up!” he said, a lazy mockery in his voice, twirling his tea glass in his hand, his gaze shifting to Emre.

Pınar burst into laughter. “We’ll win with dance again,” she said, a proud delight in her voice. “You guys can watch. Maybe we’ll teach you something with Beste.”

Beste grinned. “Yeah, but you’ll have to practice,” she said, her laughter filling the table as she grabbed another french fry.

Kaan shrugged. “I’ll do something with the guitar,” he said with quiet determination. “Last time wasn’t bad, but this time I’ll try something different.”

Ece murmured, “I’ll join with photos again,” excitement in her voice. She smiled as she wrapped her hand with the tissue. “Maybe I’ll take some shots from the shore.”

Can raised his head. “I’ll be the host! I’ll bring the stage to life!” he said with a deep laugh, hitting his soda can on the table. “I’ll make everyone laugh.”

Gizem nodded. “What about writing?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, looking at the group. “Is that included too?”

Zeynep smiled. “Yeah, but no one really writes,” she said cheerfully. “Last year, someone tried, but people found it boring.”

Yiğit glanced at the radio for a moment. “Football is fun,” he said, a quiet enjoyment in his voice, making another small scratch on the table with his pencil. “And music… It’s different on stage, not like on the radio.” He hummed a tune for a moment, then fell silent, his gaze returning to the table.

Gizem looked at him. “Music?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, her eyes on Yiğit as she held her tea glass.

Yiğit smiled. “Sometimes,” he said mysteriously, twirling his pencil between his fingers. “I just play a little.” He didn’t say anything else, his gaze briefly meeting Gizem’s before shifting back to the table.

As time passed, the group started to disperse. Gizem and Beyza got on their bikes and pedaled home through the town’s streets.

The wind brushed against their faces, the streetlights illuminated their path, and the town’s silence returned. Gizem turned to Beyza. “What do you think the festival will be like?” she asked, excitement in her voice, her eyes shifting to the road as she slowed her pedaling.

Beyza smiled. “Lively,” she said with delight. “Everyone does something, and it turns out great. What about you? What will you do?”

Gizem thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll try writing… I used to love it.”

Beyza nodded. “That would be nice,” she said approvingly. “Maybe I’ll do something with drawing.”

Gizem laughed. “Yiğit… He’s different, isn’t he?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, pedaling faster.

Beyza chuckled. “Yeah,” she said with calm agreement. “Everyone is a little like that here. But Yiğit… He’s both quiet and different.”

Gizem thought: This town, these people… It’s like something is beginning. The festival, Yiğit, all of it… Maybe I can find a place here.

A smile appeared on her face as she blended into the town’s night, the wind accompanying her.