The First Steps of Love

When Gizem opened her eyes in bed, the sun was streaming into her room, the curtains swayed gently, and the salty air of the town filled her nose. It was Saturday, the first day of the festival. She picked up her journal and scribbled on the page with her pen:

"Day 20: The rehearsals are over. Yiğit, Kaan, Ece, and I… We practiced a lot, for hours, sweating, laughing, sometimes arguing. But now we are ready. Today, we’ll go on stage. My heart is beating fast, but I’m not afraid. We’ll leave a mark, I know it."

She put down the pen, feeling a wave of excitement but also a deep sense of peace. She got up, put on her navy blue t-shirt and jeans, tied her hair back, and looked at herself in the mirror. Today… everything will be decided.

When she arrived at school, the courtyard had transformed into a festival scene. Colorful flags were hung on the trees, speakers were being tested on stage, and students roamed around in groups. The music competition was set to begin in the morning, and the door of class 12-A was open, laughter spilling from inside.

As Gizem stepped in, Mert was scribbling something on the board, Emre was teasing him, and Pınar was fixing her hair in the mirror. In the corner, Yiğit was tuning his guitar, Kaan had his headphones on, and Ece was setting up her keyboard. As Gizem put her drumsticks into her bag, Mert called out:

"Alright, music team! Gather up, we’re giving you a motivational speech!"

The classroom fell silent in an instant, all eyes turning toward the group. Mert stepped forward, placed his hands on the desk, and grinned.

"Look, today you're going on stage to represent us," he said, his voice full of energy. "Yiğit’s voice, Kaan’s bass, Ece’s keyboard, Gizem’s rhythm… I know you’ll win. Bring us that medal, okay?" He laughed, and the class burst into applause.

Emre stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and smirked. "I don’t know much about music, but you guys aren’t bad," he said, teasing yet sincere. "Gizem, if you break the drums, I’m not taking the blame!"

The class laughed, and Gizem rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips.

Selin rose from her desk, her voice calm. "Be serious for a moment," she said, her gaze shifting to the group. "I heard your rehearsals. You’re good. You need to win, or I’ll make Mert the captain, and you’ll all be in trouble." She shot Mert a playful smirk, making the class roar with laughter again.

Pınar flipped her hair, stepped forward, and spoke with authority: "We’re taking the volleyball trophy, but music should also be ours," she said, her eyes locking onto Gizem. "Gizem, don’t mess up the rhythm, okay? I already trust Yiğit." She smiled at Yiğit.

She still envies me, Gizem thought but said nothing.

Beste stood beside Pınar, grinning. "Yeah, Yiğit will save the stage," she said with admiration in her voice. "But Gizem, you weren’t bad in rehearsals either. Surprise us." She winked, and Gizem smiled, feeling a little relieved.

The rest of the class joined in with applause, chanting, "Go, 12-A!"

Yiğit slung his guitar over his shoulder and spoke in a calm voice: "Thanks, we’ll do our best." His gaze lingered on Gizem for a moment, a small smile on his lips.

Gizem’s heart raced, and she lowered her head.

At 10 AM, the host took the microphone on stage:

"The first day of the festival kicks off with the music bands! Eight groups will compete, and our judges are three teachers: Music teacher Ms. Ayşe, literature teacher Mr. Murat, and PE teacher Mr. Serkan. Each group will be scored out of 10, and the winner will be determined with a total of 30 points. First up: 9-B!"

9-B Performance: Four students took the stage—electric guitar, bass, keyboard, and drums. They played "Sweet Child O’ Mine." The vocalist kept their voice high, but the drummer lost rhythm multiple times. The crowd clapped, but the enthusiasm was limited.

As Gizem watched from the side with her band, she whispered, "The rhythm was off, but the guitar wasn’t bad."

Yiğit nodded. "Yeah, but the vocalist was shouting too much."

Kaan muttered, "The drums ruined them."

Ece chuckled. "We’re better."

Ayşe - 6, Murat - 7, Serkan - 6. Total: 19.

10-C Performance: A three-member band with an acoustic guitar, violin, and vocals. They performed "Hallelujah." The violin added a soft touch, but the vocalist went off-key.

Gizem’s thoughts: The melody is nice, but the voice…

Yiğit whispered, "The violin tried to save it."

Ece: "The vocalist was too weak."

Kaan: "The acoustic sound was decent."

Ayşe - 7, Murat - 6, Serkan - 7. Total: 20.

11-A Performance: Five members, rock style, playing "Smells Like Teen Spirit." The drums were intense, and the guitars were energetic, but the vocalist forgot the lyrics and went silent during the chorus. The crowd clapped, but something felt missing.

Gizem: "Great energy, but the vocals…"

Yiğit: "The drums might challenge us, they were solid."

Kaan: "But the vocals ruined it."

Ece: "Ours will be cleaner."

Ayşe - 7, Murat - 8, Serkan - 7. Total: 22.

9-C Performance: Four people, pop style, "Shape of You." They incorporated dance, but the instruments were weak, and the drummer lost the tempo.

Gizem: "Fun, but messy."

Yiğit: "They tried to put on a show."

Ece: "The music was secondary."

Kaan: "Drumming was weak again."

Ayşe - 6, Murat - 6, Serkan - 5. Total: 17.

11-B Performance: Three people, acoustic "Wonderwall." Guitar and vocals were in sync, but it was monotonous, and the crowd got bored.

Gizem: "Calm, but ineffective."

Yiğit: "It was my pick, but we’re better."

Ece chuckled: "Missing a keyboard."

Kaan: "If they had bass…"

Ayşe - 7, Murat - 7, Serkan - 6. Total: 20.

10-B Performance: Five people, "Bohemian Rhapsody." The keyboard and vocals stood out, but the drums were weak, and the chorus was chaotic.

Gizem: "A bold choice, but difficult."

Yiğit: "The keyboard was good, but it was messy."

Ece: "I’m better."

Kaan: "The drums were nonexistent."

Ayşe - 8, Murat - 7, Serkan - 8. Total: 23.

10-B Performance: Four people, "Viva La Vida." Strong strings and keyboard, emotional vocals, but the drums were too simple.

Gizem: "Nice melody, but lacking rhythm."

Yiğit: "Ours is more balanced."

Ece: "The keyboard wasn’t bad."

Kaan: "My bass is better."

Ayşe - 8, Murat - 8, Serkan - 7. Total: 23.

When it was 12-A’s turn, Gizem’s hands were sweating as she gripped her drumsticks tightly. Standing at the edge of the stage, her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing quickened, and her eyes scanned the crowd.

Yiğit turned to her, his dark eyes calm yet warm, placing his hand on her shoulder, his fingers gently squeezing.

"Gizem," he said, his voice soft, washing over her like a wave, warming her from the inside. "With your rhythm, everything will fall into place."

He smiled, his eyes shining, his face radiating confidence.

Gizem’s heart stopped for a moment, then raced, and a shy smile appeared on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling, a wave of relief spreading inside her. He trusts me… His voice, his gaze… I’m calming down.

They stepped onto the stage, the crowd fell silent, and an air of anticipation filled the room. Yiğit picked up his guitar, his fingers gliding over the strings, playing the first chords: “I walked across an empty land…” His voice filled the room, calm yet powerful, drawing the crowd in, each word carrying emotion. Ece joined in on the keyboard, the notes spreading like a gentle wave, her fingers dancing on the keys. Kaan played the bass, his deep tones supporting the rhythm, steady yet resolute.

Gizem struck the drumsticks, entering with the kick and snare, the rhythm in sync with her heartbeat, her hands trembling but refusing to lose control, growing more confident with each beat. They moved into the chorus: “And if you have a minute, why don’t we go…” Yiğit’s voice soared, Gizem played the drums with passion but kept the rhythm flawless, Ece held a long note on the keyboard, and Kaan prepared for the closing with the bass. Their performance of “Somewhere Only We Know” was so beautiful that the audience was spellbound. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence, then an eruption of applause.

Gizem lowered her drumsticks, breathless, her eyes scanning the crowd as the applause echoed in her ears. She turned to Yiğit and met his calm smile, her heart pounding.

The jury announced their scores: Ayşe Hanım raised her hand. “10,” she said, admiration in her voice. Murat Bey nodded. “10, flawless,” he said. Serkan Bey grinned. “10, what else can I say?” Total: 30. The host shouted, “12-A wins!” The crowd rose to their feet, applause filled the stage, cheers erupted: “12-A! 12-A!”

Gizem’s eyes welled up, her hands trembled as she turned to Yiğit. “We did it,” she said, her voice shaky, a smile on her lips. Yiğit grinned, his eyes shining. “Because of you,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder, his fingers tightening for a brief moment. They locked eyes, Gizem’s cheeks flushed, her heart fluttering in her chest. Does he see me this way?

Medals were awarded on stage. Ayşe Hanım placed golden medals around their necks one by one. The metal was cool and heavy, and as Gizem’s fingers touched it, she felt its reality. When Yiğit received his medal, his fingers brushed against Gizem’s. They both hesitated for a moment, sharing a shy smile, their eyes meeting, and for a second, as the crowd cheered, the world seemed to pause.

Yiğit whispered, “Good job, drummer.” His voice was sincere, warmth in his eyes. Gizem laughed. “You too, vocalist,” she said softly, happiness swelling inside her. Ece and Kaan received their medals too, and the four of them stood side by side on stage, raising their hands in victory as the crowd chanted, “12-A!”

As they stepped off the stage, Gizem’s heart was still racing. She twirled the medal in her hand, the gold catching the light.

Yiğit walked up to her, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder. “Do you feel it?” he asked, excitement in his voice. “We won.”

Gizem nodded. “Yeah… Feels like a dream,” she said, glancing at Yiğit, whose smile warmed her inside. Kaan and Ece joined them.

Ece grinned. “This medal belongs to all of us.”

Kaan nodded. “Gizem saved the rhythm.”

When they entered the classroom for the last lesson of the day, a wave of applause erupted. Hands pounded on desks, cheers filled the air. Mert jumped up, spreading his arms wide, yelling, “Champions, over here!”

The class burst into laughter. Mert hugged Yiğit, patting his back. “You set the stage on fire with your voice, captain!” he said, his eyes gleaming. Yiğit grinned. “We all did,” he replied, calm but happy.

Emre got up from his desk and approached Gizem, picking up her medal to examine it. “Damn, drummer!” he said, admiration in his voice. “The way you hit those sticks… The stage shook!” He laughed, nudging Gizem’s shoulder. “You made us proud, new girl.” Gizem blushed. “Thanks,” she said, cheeks warm, but her heart full.

Selin walked over with steady steps, looking at each of them in turn, approval in her eyes. “You were good in rehearsals, but on stage… You were perfect,” she said, serious yet gentle. She turned to Ece. “The keyboard was amazing,” she said, then to Gizem, “The rhythm… It was truly flawless.” She looked at Kaan. “The bass too.” Then she smiled at Yiğit. “And you… You were born for the stage.” Yiğit bowed his head. “Thanks, Selin,” he said, shyly.

Pınar flicked her hair and approached the group, a smile on her lips but still a glint of jealousy in her eyes. “We’ll win in volleyball, but the music wasn’t bad either,” she said with authority. She looked at Yiğit. “Your voice was as good as ever,” she said, then turned to Gizem. “And you… You didn’t mess up the rhythm, surprising.” There was reluctance in her tone, but it was honest. Gizem smiled. “Thanks, Pınar,” she said, thinking to herself: Jealousy or truce?

Beste stood beside Pınar, arms crossed, grinning. “Yiğit is already a star on stage,” she said, admiration in her voice. “But Gizem, those drums… I heard your beats, not bad.” She winked, then turned to Ece. “The keyboard was beautiful too.” She looked at Kaan. “The bass was deep, solid.” She smiled at the group. “You’re all good, congrats.”

Okan got up from the back rows and walked over with a calm stride, glancing at the medals. “You won, huh? Respect,” he said, his voice steady. “I watched from the audience. The drums and guitar together… Nice.” He smiled at Gizem. “New girl, you did well.”

Melis stood from the front row, approaching timidly, her hands clasped in front of her. “You were amazing,” she said softly. “I got chills listening to the song. Congratulations, really.” Her eyes lingered on the medals for a moment, filled with admiration.

Their class teacher, Fatma Hanım, appeared at the door, holding a notebook, a warm smile on her lips. The class quieted, all eyes on her. “Children,” she said, her voice calm yet proud. “Today, you represented 12-A on stage, and you did an incredible job.”

She stepped closer to the group, looking at Yiğit. “You enchanted everyone with your voice,” she said. She turned to Ece. “The keyboard was elegant.” To Kaan. “The bass gave depth to the song.” And to Gizem. “The rhythm… It was so strong and clean that you shone like a star on stage.”

Gizem’s cheeks turned red, and she bowed her head. “Thank you, teacher,” she said, her voice shaky.

Fatma Hanım continued. “You became a team, and this medal… You earned it. 12-A is proud of you.” The class applauded, desks were pounded, and chants of “12-A! 12-A!” filled the room.

Gizem held her medal, her fingers tracing the golden surface, her eyes drifting to Yiğit. Yiğit gave her a calm smile, his dark hair falling onto his forehead.

This moment… I will always remember, she thought, her heart warm.

As they left school, the air had cooled, and the sky was painted orange. Gizem and Beyza walked together, their bags on their shoulders, their steps light.

Beyza grinned. “You were amazing, especially you and Yiğit,” she said, a mischievous tone in her voice. “What was that eye contact on stage?”

Gizem blushed. “There was no such thing,” she said, but her cheeks turned red, and she lowered her head.

Beyza laughed. “Sure, sure,” she said, nudging her shoulder.

A voice came from behind them. “Hey, wait up!”

It was Yiğit, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. He ran to catch up with them, his breath slightly quickened. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, calm but eager, his eyes briefly resting on Gizem, a smile on his lips.

The three of them walked side by side, their conversation drifting through the air.

Beyza said, “You were great on stage, the medal looks amazing,” her eyes glancing at it.

Yiğit grinned. “It was a team effort,” he said, then looked at Gizem. “But the rhythm… That was something else.”

Gizem’s heart quickened. “Your voice was too,” she said shyly, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Beyza giggled. “Yeah, there was a harmony on stage,” she said, giving a knowing look.

After a while, Beyza stopped and adjusted her bag. “I’ll take this turn,” she said, grinning, winking at Gizem. “You two go on.” She quickened her steps and turned onto another street.

Gizem thought to herself, She’s leaving us alone. Her cheeks flushed, her heart pounded, but she said nothing, lowering her head.

Yiğit and Gizem walked side by side, their footsteps blending with the sound of the waves. The evening silence of the small town surrounded them. Yiğit put his hands in his pockets and said in a calm voice, “You were good on stage today.” His eyes drifted to the sea. “The stage suits you, and the drums… It’s like they’re a part of you.” His voice carried sincerity, admiration.

Gizem smiled, her fingers playing with the medal, the cool metal rolling in her palm. “Thanks,” she said softly. “You too… Your voice was amazing, Yiğit. Everyone fell silent, just listening to you.”

Her eyes flickered to Yiğit, drawn to his calm profile. Her heart skipped a beat. Why do I feel like this?

Yiğit grinned, his dark eyes shining. “We’re good together,” he said warmly. “The band… It felt complete with you.” His eyes met hers for a moment before turning back to the sea.

Gizem’s cheeks burned. She lowered her head. “I hope so,” she murmured, her voice unsteady.

Their conversation flowed—about the town, music, dreams.

Yiğit said, “When I was little, I used to play the guitar by the shore, trying to sync with the waves.” He chuckled.

Gizem smiled. “Back in Istanbul, I used to relieve stress by playing the drums, late at night when everyone was asleep.”

Yiğit laughed. “And now, you did it on stage,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

The connection between them deepened—unspoken, hanging in the air.

When they reached Gizem’s house, Yiğit stopped. “See you,” he said, waving before turning the corner.

Gizem entered the house and found Nuray in the kitchen. The kettle was boiling, the scent of tea filling the air.

Nuray turned around, a teacup in her hand, grinning. “How was the festival?” she asked, her gaze falling on the medal. “What’s that?”

Gizem took off the medal and placed it on the table, the golden surface catching the light. “We won,” she said, pride in her voice, a smile on her lips. “The bands competed, and we came first.” She sat down, resting her hands on the table, eyes fixed on the medal.

Nuray pulled out a chair and sat across from her, stirring her tea. “Wow, well done,” she said cheerfully. “How did it go? What did you feel?”

Gizem hesitated for a moment, her gaze wandering over the medal. Then she looked up. “Before going on stage, I was really nervous,” she admitted softly. “My hands were shaking, I could barely hold the drumsticks. But Yiğit… He said something to me, and I calmed down.”

She paused, blushing, lowering her gaze.

Nuray raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Yiğit, huh? Who’s Yiğit?” she asked with curiosity, her eyes scanning Gizem’s face.

Gizem shrugged, fidgeting with her fingers, embarrassed. “The band’s vocalist,” she said, her voice slightly shaky. “He plays the guitar, sings… He’s a good guy. Before we went on stage, he told me, ‘With your rhythm, everything will fall into place.’ He was so calm… It made me feel safe.”

Her eyes dropped to the table, her heart pounding. Why am I saying all this?

Nuray smirked, taking a sip of her tea. “Oh really?” she teased. “Sounds like a nice guy.”

“How was he on stage?” she asked, her voice playful.

Gizem smiled, her eyes shining. “He was amazing,” she said with admiration. “His voice… It silenced everyone. He sang so beautifully that for a moment, I thought I lost the rhythm. But we pulled it off, all of us… Ece’s keyboard, Kaan’s bass, my drums… Everything fit.”

She paused, running her fingers over the medal. “When we won… It felt like a dream.”

Nuray nodded approvingly. “You had a good day,” she said calmly. “And this Yiğit… His name keeps coming up, have you noticed?” She smiled knowingly at Gizem.

Gizem’s cheeks burned. She dropped her hands into her lap. “I don’t know…” she muttered, her voice trembling. “We’re just in the band together, that’s all… He’s nice, he helps, that’s it.”

She wanted to change the subject, but under Nuray’s gaze, she felt uneasy.

Nuray laughed. “Alright, alright,” she said, placing her hand on the table. “Keep your medal safe, it’s a great memory. I’m proud of you.”

She finished her tea, stood up, and left the kitchen.

Gizem went to her room, lay on her bed, and placed the medal by her bedside. The golden surface gleamed softly in the dim light.

She stared at the ceiling, replaying the day in her mind—the applause on stage, Yiğit’s voice, the weight of the medal, their conversation on the way home.

Inside her was a whirlwind, a warmth.

Yiğit… Why is he always on my mind? His voice, his smile…

She took a deep breath, picked up her journal, and wrote:

“Day 20: We won. I was on stage with Yiğit, we got the medal. We talked on the way home. He trusts me, and I trust him… I love him, don’t I? I realized it as I wrote this. My heart is beating fast, but it’s a good feeling.”

She closed the journal, buried her face in the pillow, and shut her eyes.

Yiğit’s smile lingered in her mind as she drifted into sleep.