CHAPTER 0: VALUE MEASURED IN BAGS

*CHAPTER 0: VALUE MEASURED IN BAGS - 

_3 YEARS AGO - AFYON / A VILLAGE - Ramadan Feast - Morning_

_Fog had settled over the village like a heavy quilt, white, thick, you couldn't see 10 meters ahead. The cold was biting to the bone, Anatolian cold, even though it was supposed to be spring. Breath became ice instantly._

_In the courtyard of the mosque, after bayram prayer, there was a long queue. Half the village was there, maybe 100 men. Old, young, children. Men were waiting in their old, heavy coats, patched, smelling of mothballs, turning their breath into steam, rubbing hands to warm. Everyone happy, but tired from fasting 30 days._

_First greetings were given. Then hands were kissed. Little children, 5-6 years old, reached for the elders' hands with trembling fingers from cold, saying "Happy bayram, uncle" "Bayramınız mübarek olsun amca" and secretly, quickly, putting the coins, 5 TL, 10 TL pressed into their palms into their small pockets, eyes shining. That was the ritual._

_The elders were laughing, beards white, hugging._ "Thank God we came together this bayram too, may we see many more, may God accept your fast."

_The queue was turning. The one who went to the end came back to the beginning. Until everyone shook everyone's hand, twice, three times. It takes an hour._

_Right at that moment, near the mosque wall, a whisper rose from among the children, 10-year-olds, cruel because they are honest._

_CHILD 1 - whispering, pointing at a man in corner, thin, coat old, empty-handed:_ "No need to kiss this uncle's hand. He doesn't give money anyway. He never gives. Empty pocket."

_Another child, a little older, immediately silenced him, elbowing:_ "Shh son, it will be shameful. Ayıp. Kiss anyway, sevap."

_Despite the whisper, despite knowing he gives nothing, a child, small, 7 years old, with runny nose, stepped forward. Innocent. He bent down, kissed the man's hand, forehead touching hand. "Happy bayram, uncle. Bayramınız kutlu olsun."_

_The man smiled. His eyes were full, watery from cold and something else. He patted child's head. "Happy bayram to you too, my lion. May you have many bayrams." He had nothing to give, hands empty, pockets empty. He squeezed child's hand extra, as if that is gift._

_The crowd slowly dispersed, going to houses for breakfast. The man walked through the stony streets of the village, stones icy, alone, a bit behind everyone, as if he doesn't want to walk with them. He arrived at his parents' house, his childhood house, old stone house. He slowly opened the wooden door, which creaked. He hung his old coat on nail. On the wall, a picture caught attention: a young fresh sapling, and next to it people were holding the tree in a bent way, supporting it. Family photo, faded._

_Inside was warm, too warm after cold outside. The smell of steaming su böreği, butter, cheese, covered the house, made mouth water. There were people having breakfast at the table, long table on floor, 10-12 people, laughing, eating. An old auntie took the tea from the stove, black stove. "Does anyone want tea? Tea is hot!" she asked, happy._

_The man called out, trying to sound happy, but voice small:_

_MAN - Beyza's father:_ "Selamun aleykum. Happy bayram. Bayramınız mübarek olsun."

_Voices came from inside, but not all, some, distracted:_

_PEOPLE - half-hearted:_ "Aleykum selam, happy bayram to you too. Come, come."

_The man immediately kissed the old auntie's hand, his mother, bent down low._ "Happy bayram, mother. Ellerinden öperim."

_The auntie smiled, tired._ "Happy bayram to you too my son. Come sit at the table. Come."

_His daughter Beyza, 13 then, stood up quickly. She kissed her father's hand and celebrated his bayram. "Happy bayram, dad." But no one else moved from their place, no one gave space. Plates full, elbows wide. An older sister, his sister, mumbled without looking:_ "Move a little so our brother can sit." _No one pretended to hear. No one moved. They kept eating._

_Then a small child, same child from mosque, moved aside on cushion._ "Come sit, uncle. Sit here." _The man sat down, knees hurting. "Thank you, my child. Thank you." He patted the child's head. The child also held the man's hand and said, "Happy bayram, uncle." Again. The only one who said twice._

_And at that moment... a knock sound came from the door. Loud, confident knock. Not like his soft opening._

_The man who entered had bags in his hands. Many bags. Shiny bags. Chocolate, baklava from famous shop, cologne, toys. Hands full. His coat new, leather. Shoes new._

_Suddenly everyone jumped to their feet. Like current. "Welcome brother! Happy bayram brother! Hoş geldin abicim!" Everyone moved aside and made room, pushing each other, making space at best spot near stove, near börek._

_Two men. Same blood. Same parents. Same house. But one came empty-handed, the other with bags. The difference in treatment was as big as mountains, as deep as valley. One invisible, one king._

_The man in the corner, Beyza's father, bowed his head, looking at his empty hands, cracked from work. He thought to himself, voice inside that Beyza heard later when he told her at night: "So our value is measured by bags. Poşet kadar değerimiz. Empty bag, empty man. Full bag, full man."_

_At that moment, the child who kissed his hand, small child, squeezed his hand under table. As if he felt what he felt. Small hand, warm._

_Other children gathered around the new man, the uncle with bags, like bees around honey. They kissed his hands eagerly. "Happy bayram, uncle! Happy bayram!" The man took out his wallet, thick wallet, leather. He gave 50 TL to each of them, new bills. Children happy, shouting "thanks uncle!". He gave to everyone except Beyza's father and Beyza._

_Beyza, 13, watched all of this from corner, sitting next to father, watching father bow head. And at that moment she understood something that would shape her next 5 years, her whole love life. She understood that in this village, in this country, "Your value is as much as the money in your pocket. Cebindeki para kadar insansın. Empty pocket, empty human."_

_Maybe that's why she couldn't be with Ahmet 3 years later. She was afraid of being excluded again, of being the girl with empty-handed father, of being mocked as "poor's daughter". Even though she loved Ahmet inside, even though Ahmet was kind and honest like her father, she chose Buğra with the fear of "what will people around me say", because Buğra had popular friends, new shoes, father's car. Safety. She chose safety over love, because village taught her that._

_She hated herself for that later._

---

_3 YEARS LATER - SCHOOL CORRIDOR - KAZIM KAYNAK - 2nd FLOOR - Friday, last lesson_

_At the end of the corridor, near 11/C, Beyza and three girlfriends were laughing, looking at TikTok, hair done, new uniforms. Loud laughter, teenage laughter._

_At the other end of the corridor, near stairs, Ahmet was standing alone. In his hand was a crumpled letter, folded 4 times, paper sweaty from hand. His heart was about to burst out of his chest, thump thump loud. He wrote it last night, 2 hours, tore 7 papers._

_He stepped. 5 steps. 4 steps... towards Beyza. Each step heavier. Girls didn't see him yet. He was about to say..._

_An arm reached out from behind, fast, and grabbed the letter from his hand, snatched._

_CENK - shouted with a laugh, holding letter high like trophy, jumping:_ "Gotchaaa!!! What is this? Love letter? Ooo Ahmet is in love!"

_Next to him were Mehmet, Kerem and Buğra. The gang of four, the popular four, basketball team, always together. They laughed, circling Ahmet._

_AHMET - out of breath, jumping to get letter, panicked, face red:_ "Give it back! It's mine! Give it back, it's private!"

_CENK - lifted the letter into the air higher, Ahmet too short to reach, opened it, unfolding crumpled paper dramatically. "Wait, I'm curious. Let's see what the poor guy wrote? Maybe poetry? Shakespeare?"_

_The corridor fell silent slowly. Other classes looked. All eyes were there. The bully show. Everyone loves to watch bully show if not victim._

_CENK - started reading aloud, in mocking romantic voice, loud so whole corridor hears:_

"Beyzaaa... I don't have the courage to tell you this to your face. I'm afraid everyone will make fun of me. But today is Friday. Maybe it's my lucky day. I..."

_The girls started laughing, covering mouths. Beyza's face turned red, not from love, from shame, from being center of attention. She looked at Ahmet, saw his eyes begging "don't laugh"._

_CENK continued, in a more mocking voice, making kissing sounds:_

"If you just say 'okay' once... My world will change. I... I love you Beyza. From Ahmet. With heart."

_He drew a heart in air. The corridor burst into laughter. Loud. Cruel. Someone whistled._

_BUGRA - shouted towards Beyza, laughing, to show he is not jealous but dominant:_

"Did you hear Beyzaaa?! You're the lucky girl!!! Ahmet loves you!!! Poor Ahmet!"

_Beyza was startled at first. Her heart raced, because part of her liked Ahmet, Ahmet was kind, helped her with math, didn't laugh at her father's old car. But then that bayram morning came before her eyes, like flash, like trauma. Her father, his empty hands, the chair in the corner, the children running to bags. If she were with Ahmet... the poor kid, the quiet kid, she would experience the same exclusion again. She would be mocked again as "two poors together". She was afraid. Fear won over love._

_The words that fell from her lips were sharp and cold, louder than she wanted, to make sure everyone hears she is NOT with him, to save herself:_

_BEYZA - voice shaking but trying to be cold, eyes not looking at Ahmet:_

"You're disgusting Ahmet. Stay away from me. Don't ever write to me again. Disgusting!"

_The corridor applauded. "Oooo" "Burned" "Nice Beyza!" But Beyza's inside was shattered, because she saw Ahmet's face. Ahmet's face fell, crumpled like his letter, eyes full like her father's that bayram morning. He understood too. His value measured in bags too, and his bag was empty._

_Ahmet took letter from Cenk's hand, torn a little, and walked away, head down, to bathroom, to cry alone where no one sees. His heart not bursting from love now, but from shame._

_And Buğra put arm around Beyza, "you did right", and Beyza smiled fake, but inside she knew: she just became the people who didn't give space to her father._