Work Text:
Kemal hasn’t unpacked much beyond the necessities. To be fair, he’s only been living in Izmir for a few weeks. Though he supposes most other people who had recently made a cross-country move would have somewhat less boxes taking up the entirety of their floor space.
He sets down his screwdriver, blowing out a short breath. He had been spending the last hour or so trying to reassemble the same bookshelf he had taken apart for Sinan’s sake, all the while mulling over a thought that had occupied a space in his mind since he left Istanbul.
Fuck it, he thinks, knowing that he has nothing to lose because he can’t see how their situation could get any worse.
Kemal walks over to the cardboard box where he knows his landline is packed, having had no reason until tonight to use it. He untangles the cord, plugs it in, and sets it down.
After taking several seconds to steel his nerves, he dials the number that he’s had memorized since the recipient in question had crashed into his life and upended his world.
“Hello?” Burcu’s familiar voice enters his left ear, and a wave of relief, love, and longing washes over Kemal.
He doesn’t respond right away, caught up in the moment, and Burcu continues on, “Hello? It must be a wrong number.”
“Burcu, it’s me,” he blurts out before she can hang up.
“Kemal?” she inquires.
He wants to say so many things. He wants—and doesn’t want—to talk about their fight, he wants to know how the school is, he wants to know what she did with that red dress after breaking up with him, he wants to know how she’s sleeping at night without him, because he knows he’s been restless without her.
Instead of saying any of that, Kemal settles for a simple “How are you?” though he is unable to keep the smile from forming across his face as he speaks.
“Uh, okay. Okay, I’m okay. How are you? Is everything alright?” Burcu replies instantly, and Kemal knows from the tone of her voice that she was caught off guard by his call.
He shrugs to himself, taking a quick look around the room as he gathers his thoughts.
“Eh,” he replies, which is honest for the most part. He likes the team just fine, and of course the management is trying to backseat drive more than he would like, though despite it being his first gig as a coach, Kemal has been in the world of professional basketball long enough to know that this is to be expected. But work aside, everything is not alright, and frankly has not been since Burcu told him that it was time for the two of them to say their goodbyes.
“What do you mean, “eh”?” Burcu asks, and Kemal can imagine the concerned furrow that must be between her brows right now, “Is there something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”
“I do,” he affirms, “I only want to talk to you.” He isn’t just answering her question, he’s trying to tell her that beyond whatever problem she thinks he’s having, she is the only one he wants to talk to about everything.
“Okay, tell me. I’m listening,” she replies in that same quick manner, “Uh, by the way, it’s normal to have adjustment issues at first. I mean, things might not be perfect right away. Maybe you lost a few games, but it’s okay. It really is okay, you know? You can’t give up that easily.”
God, he loves her. Okay, she didn’t get his underlying message, too caught up in her worry for him. He sure does miss this, though, Burcu fussing over him. He sure does miss her.
“I miss you so much,” he says, his lips quirking up in an uncontrollable smile, cutting off Burcu’s rambling before she can get too carried away.
There is a pause on her end, and for a brief moment Kemal worries if he was too forward, saying something Burcu might not have been ready to hear after the hurtful way that their last conversation had concluded.
“Me too,” she says, her voice breaking slightly, and Kemal’s doubts are washed away.
“I miss you too,” Burcu continues, carrying a shaky, teary, sort of tone. She pauses again, and he can hear her draw in a deep breath through the phone.
“I keep thinking about how I made a mess of everything. I admit that it was all my fault. I’m not these things to confuse you,” she says hastily, as if she doesn’t want him having the wrong idea for even a second, “Really, I don’t have the right, I know. But, I just… I just wanted you to know that,” she finishes.
As nice as it is to hear her say all that, Kemal can’t quite bring himself to verbalize forgiveness for her just yet. The pain is too raw for him. Although Sinan had been right, Kemal probably could have been more supportive and understanding of Burcu’s insecurities, he does agree with her; this whole thing, their break-up and consequential hurt, was caused by Burcu’s doubt.
But, as angry and hurt as he might be, he’ll be damned if he ever loses her. So, because he knows that they will get to forgiveness eventually, Kemal says the only thing possible.
“Is it okay if I call you every now and then? Can we at least talk on the phone?” he asks, mindlessly playing with the phone cord in his free hand.
“We can, of course!” Burcu says, and he is reassured to hear her voice take an excited turn, “That would be super! This way, we can at least stay in each other’s lives. Right?”
Kemal is so relieved that he can only nod rapidly, forgetting momentarily that Burcu can’t see his nonverbal response.
“So, what do you want to talk about now? You can tell me about your life there,” she suggests.
Kemal stands up, grabbing the dial box with his right hand, waving his arm around to loosen the cord from where it’s currently bunched up on the ground.
“Well, this place is different. It’s the professional league. Everything is so much more intense,” he starts, setting the dial box on the television stand.
“Of course. I mean, they’re grown men and everything is professional,” Burcu agrees, “There’s big money out there. That must be exciting?”
As she speaks, Kemal fiddles with his neon lamp for a bit, before throwing an arm over his TV, trying to get comfortable, suspecting that they’ll be talking for a while.
“Don’t even ask,” he responds, “Everyone here is absolutely ruthless. Everything is only about winning.”
They go through the next many hours catching up, and by 03:28 the next morning Kemal has polished off half a bottle of red, paced up and down his living room too many times to count, sprawled across the couch, and finally laid down in his bed.
When he finally does check the time, Kemal is unsurprised to find himself not the least bit tired. Before tonight he was a man starving, and since Burcu picked up the phone he has been riding the high of speaking to her. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, he reckons—tonight he realized just how much he missed absolutely everything about Burcu; from her refreshingly different perspective on things, the way she sees the world, the way she rewrites the rules, her pure goodness.
Though Kemal knows they could both probably stay up the entire night talking, she has to be at school, and he at the Karşıyaka management office, in a few hours.
“Burcu,” he says softly, “it’s getting late and we have work tomorrow. Can we pick this up next time you have a chance to talk?”
“Oh!” she says, startled, “I haven’t been looking at the clock, I can’t believe it’s so late! Sorry to keep you so long, you’re right, we can definitely pick this up next time.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Kemal chuckles.
“Kemal…” she starts again, “thank you. For calling. I know I said it earlier, but… I miss this. I miss you.”
Kemal’s heart clenches briefly.
“I know,” he replies, “I miss you too. Goodnight, Burcu,” he says while softly grinning at her face on the framed photograph of them that he keeps on his nightstand. He thinks that he hasn’t smiled this much in what must be several months.
“Goodnight, Kemal,” is the last thing he hears before a muffled clicking noise lets him know that she has hung up.
He sets the phone down, settling into the right side of his bed. When they slept together, he would sleep on the left side of the bed, and Burcu on the right, because he liked to sleep on his right side and she on her left, and that way they could face each other, cuddling. Since moving to Izmir he had kept to the right side of the bed, unable to face the empty space of the bed next to him. Tonight, for the first time since arriving here, Kemal drifts off into sleep, for once too happy to commiserate over Burcu’s absence.
. . .
Despite having slept less than four hours, Kemal wakes up feeling lighter and more refreshed than he has in what must be weeks now. As he hurries around his apartment preparing for the day, the previous night’s reconnecting conversation with Burcu stays consolidated in a happy corner of his mind, his thoughts primarily occupied with bracing for the headache inducing arguments he anticipates that he’ll have with Karşıyaka's management in an hour’s time.
After his unsurprisingly annoying meeting with management, the rest of Kemal’s day is left to what is quickly becoming a routine that doesn’t require much active thinking; lunch, practice, dinner, basketball strategy brainstorming at home, sleep, rinse and repeat. Consequently, his brain is free to put Burcu at the forefront, mentally replaying parts of their recent conversation and daydreaming about the next time they’ll be able to talk. He feels like a lovesick teenager, an emotion that is foreign but not entirely unwelcome to him.
At practice, he knows his team can definitely sense his distraction and are likely too respectful to point it out.
“Coach Kemal? Coach Kemal? Uh… which drill should we run next?” and “Ah… coach? The four of us finished our scrimmage a few minutes ago, who do you want to go next?” are among phrases he hears that afternoon.
Hm. Perhaps practice isn’t as thoughtless and routinely as he presumed. As embarrassing as this is, Kemal can’t bring himself to feel too bad about it, his exponentially growing yearning to talk to Burcu again having nearly completely taken over his feelings by now. If only there was some guarantee, a date in the future set in stone where Kemal knew that they would talk to each other on the phone again. But they had just last night agreed to call “every now and then.” While he isn’t certain exactly how frequent that means, he is pretty sure calling again is not in the cards for tonight. Yes, it’s definitely the uncertainty that is driving him insane.
Practice drags on for another two hours, and Kemal thinks that they have got to have been the longest two hours he has ever experienced. Finally, the clock strikes 17:00 and Kemal has never been happier to blow his whistle.
He clears his throat briefly before addressing his players.
“That’s it for today, team. I know I haven’t been my sharpest today, I apologize and will do better tomorrow. Good work today, see you tomorrow,” he states, keeping things characteristically professional and straight to the point.
After returning to his house, Kemal’s rationale starts to weaken. He started the day resolved not to call Burcu tonight, because clearly it was too early for the “every now and then” that they had agreed upon. But now he wonders, maybe she wouldn’t mind? He’s sure that she still cares about him as much as he does for her, so he thinks she would be happy if he called, even if somewhat surprised.
Maybe he should just call her, because the thought of not calling her has driven him steadily more restless and crazy as the day went on. Case in point, while he was mentally debating with himself since arriving home, he had even—somewhat unconsciously, it seems—made chicken pilaf for dinner. Chicken pilaf! A dish he does not particularly care for, but is one of Burcu’s favorites. He seriously needs to get a grip. Kemal stands still in his kitchen for a few minutes, hovering over his plate of food and internally chiding himself, when the shrill ring of his landline interrupts his deep thought.
It hardly rings once before Kemal lunges across his kitchen, snatching the phone from the dial box.
“Hello?” he says, unable to fight the enormous smile that breaks out, because he knows that only one person in the world would be calling him at this hour, or at all, for that matter.
. . .
At practice the next day, Kemal is not only sharper like he had promised his players, but also a whole lot happier. Burcu making the first move to call him last night, which had naturally led into another several hours long conversation lasting well into the early hours of the morning, had given Kemal the confidence he needed to decide on calling her again tonight. And hopefully also most nights after tonight for the foreseeable future, unless of course she calls first.
While sharper, he isn’t perfect. As the team is taking turns rapidly shooting free throws and Kemal has a free few minutes where he isn’t blowing his whistle or calling out orders, he catches himself grinning like an idiot. He forces his face back into a neutral, focused expression, but not before Namik meets his glance.
Kemal rather likes Namik. He’s a solid shooting guard, and definitely more mature than some of his teammates—enough that Kemal had actually opened up to him about missing Burcu at Tarık’s party several days prior.
Now, Namik does not look mature. He’s sporting a sly grin, no doubt making the connection between Kemal’s obvious change in mood and their conversation at the party.
“You’re looking awfully cheery today, Coach,” Namik loudly calls out. Kemal guesses with annoyance that Namik just couldn’t resist the urge to be playful today, for whatever reason.
“Is your girlfriend in Istanbul coming to visit, or something?” Namik continues, still smiling.
Other players on the team turn towards Kemal, suddenly losing focus on the drill.
“What? Coach Kemal, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” one player exclaims.
“Drop down and give me fifty, and then take ten laps around the court, Namik!” Kemal barks out, and the rest of the team instantly returns their attention to the drill.
. . .
On Sunday, without games, practice, or meetings to keep him occupied, Kemal finds himself sifting through an unpacked cardboard box of clothing that had been parked in the corner of his bedroom since he had moved in.
He is sorting through different suit jackets when he comes across an item that is markedly softer and smaller than the rest; a woman’s jacket, which had somehow snuck its way into place with the rest of Kemal’s clothes.
Kemal chuckles, immediately realizing whose it is, and fondly begins to think about the first night he had seen her wear it. She sported the jacket as a sore thumb of reserved business casual among a heavily intoxicated, loud, and loose crowd.
Kemal had thought she was so incredibly uptight at first—she wanted to discuss work and class schedules, of all things, at a rock concert! But, stiffness aside, he couldn’t deny how attractive he found her to be.
To this day he can’t quite put his finger on what it was, but despite his usual dislike for stiff people, he had since the beginning felt an inexplicable pull toward Burcu, which was no doubt helped by their forced proximity in the concert venue bathroom. And even before that, sitting in the grass with beers in hand, Kemal wasn’t totally lying when he told Burcu he wanted her to stay sitting with him. Sure, he wanted to help Kerem—sue him, under his gruff exterior he is a romantic at heart, but at the same time he wanted to chase the pull he felt toward Burcu.
As they were leaving the concert and Burcu’s austere front was fading, giving way to her caring nature as she worriedly rambled about the kids, Kemal couldn’t help himself but be endeared. By the time they entered Burcu’s house that night, giggling and casually conversing on her couch, giving Kemal a glimpse of the incredibly kindhearted person she was behind her formal façade, that initial affection had developed into a full on infatuation.
He remembers exercising the greatest control of his life holding back that night, and when Burcu pulled him closer after he tucked her into bed, practically begging him to not go, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. It did not take much convincing for Kemal to agree to stay that night, and come morning he was halfway in love with her.
Pulling out of his reminiscing, Kemal stands up in excitement, realizing that the jacket gave him a perfect excuse to call Burcu. They had talked on the phone every night that week in the evening after work, and despite it only being the start of the afternoon, Kemal is confident that she is home, since it is Sunday.
Sometimes on especially uneventful days Kemal found himself eagerly counting down time until it was appropriately late enough to call Burcu. Now, though, he has a specific reason to contact her, instead of just the vague desire to hear her voice and chat about nothing in particular for hours.
He leans against the wall, dialing Burcu’s number.
“Hello?” Kemal hears through the phone.
“Hey, it’s me. How are you?” he responds.
“Kemal? Is everything okay? It’s only 15:30,” Burcu replies, a hint of growing worry in her voice.
“Everything’s fine,” he rushes to reassure her, “I just found one of your jackets among my clothes. The one you wore to the rock concert last spring. I was wondering if you wanted me to mail it back to Istanbul.”
“Oh!” she says, relieved, “Couldn’t that have waited until tonight, though?”
Ah, shit. In his excitement, Kemal had not considered the obvious; finding Burcu’s jacket was far from an emergency, and definitely could have waited until their usual evening time. He is scrambling to come up with a response, not sure if he should say something clever, or just admit that he was looking for an excuse to call her, when Burcu speaks again.
“Nevermind that! I’m happy to talk to you now, of course. And forget the jacket, I don’t need it, I had honestly forgotten about it myself,” she says.
“Okay… yeah, good,” Kemal says, his brain still slow from being thrown off of his jacket plan.
“So, what do you want to talk about now?” Burcu asks, her voice taking on a playful edge, as if she can read Kemal’s thoughts and is somehow aware of how crazy he is for her.
Kemal takes a beer from the fridge and crosses over to his living room, flopping down on the left side of his couch. He suddenly remembers something he had taken note of to tell her about.
“Remember the Chinese place we went to last year? When we were planning the Bayram celebrations,” Kemal starts.
“Of course!” Burcu laughs.
“After we talked last night, I was pretty hungry, so I tried my hand at those spicy noodles for a midnight snack,” he says.
“Is that so?” she replies, curiously.
“Oh yeah. And they were delicious, might I add. Restaurant-quality even,” Kemal jokes.
Burcu laughs again.
“If I recall correctly, when we were at the restaurant you betted that you could prove to me you could replicate those noodles yourself. But, since I wasn’t there to witness your attempts, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she teases.
“Well, I can’t back down on a bet I made. I guess I’ll have to prove my excellent cooking talents to you next time I’m in Istanbul,” he promises.
. . .
Similarly to most other home games days, many of Kemal’s players have brought friends and family to hang out at the Karşıyaka gym this afternoon, a few hours ahead of their upcoming game against Beşiktaş.
Kemal’s parents and brother live fairly far from Izmir, but he knows that even if they were in the area they would not be here today, the novelty of spending time in a professional basketball court having worn off long ago during Kemal’s own playing days. His friends are similarly unimpressed, most of them being professional players or coaches themselves. So, Kemal is left lounging alone on the bleachers with his thoughts, absentmindedly people watching, and occasionally greeting friends and family of players until the 18:00 start of the game.
Playful yelling catches his ear, and Kemal follows the noise to see Nihat and his girlfriend engaged in a mock scrimmage. The girlfriend is dribbling the ball between her laughs, as Nihat blocks her with his arms outstretched, crowding her in an intimate way that would be considered far too close between two basketball players, gazing at her in an almost sickeningly fond manner.
Kemal is suddenly thrown back to a similar situation, almost a year ago. A quiet moment, in between sessions of planning for the high school’s Bayram celebrations. Kemal had been flirting shamelessly with Burcu under the guise of giving her basketball pointers. Unlike Nihat, Kemal was making just about zero effort in blocking Burcu’s shots, feeling a secret thrill of affection every time she would score and give an involuntary burst of delighted laughter, jumping up and down a few times to celebrate.
While their nightly phone calls have been a godsend that Kemal wouldn’t trade for the world, it is moments like this when he knows that they will never be enough. Because it’s not just Nihat and his girlfriend that remind Kemal of Burcu, she’s everywhere.
She’s in the music they play on the car radio on Kemal’s way to work, reminders of dancing slowly with her under the soft, golden light of the empty school auditorium. She’s in the tomatoes he cut up for his dinner last night, the image of her neatly slicing tomatoes in that morning after the rock concert that started it all, unaware of his presence.
She’s even in the stupid magnet the Karşıyaka management gave him, an ugly object spelling out “Karşıyaka Spor Kulübü” in blocky letters, from the newest line of promotional merchandise they had just ordered. The magnet now resides on his otherwise bare fridge, and every time he looks at it he remembers Burcu's fridge, cluttered with a mismatching assortment of magnets and photographs. That’s how a refrigerator should look, Kemal thinks. Like it belongs in a home. His own fridge is just another reminder that he has a house in Izmir, not a home. It’s been months since he moved, and he still hasn’t bothered to unpack most of his boxes, for reasons that he doesn’t fully understand yet, likely because he cowers in his mind at any sign of those thoughts starting to surface. Hope is a dangerous thing, after all.
Kemal mentally shakes the memories from his mind, focusing again on the scene in front of him. After looking away from Nihat and his girlfriend, he sees Tarık lifting up a little girl—probably his niece, Kemal guesses—with a basketball in her hands, towards the hoop at the left end of the court, and the girl heaves with obviously great effort as she pushes the ball into the net. Tarık carefully brings her back to ground, embracing her with a cheer that the little girl happily returns.
Over the course of his life, Kemal has not given much thought to having children, probably less thought than the average person his age. Growing up, he was too focused on basketball to think about much else in the future other than his professional career. As a basketball player, he barely had time for casual dating, and with those kinds of relationships one did not think as far ahead as children.
Watching Tarık with his niece, Kemal has a rare moment of picturing himself and his nonexistent future daughter in their places. Maybe a kid or two would be nice, he muses. But… the only woman he has ever been serious about, the only woman he would consider having kids with, lives about a four and a half hour drive away.
Kemal surrenders to his mind with an internal sigh, knowing that at this point, it is futile to fight the uphill battle of trying not to think of Burcu at work, or anywhere really.
After driving home from the game, Kemal practically rushes through his front door, riding the high of victory, and the anticipation of sharing his excitement with Burcu soon. His phone is already ringing, so he tosses his keys atop a box next to the front door, and picks up the phone.
He discards his tie and undoes the first two buttons of his dress shirt, reheating leftovers from the previous night’s dinner and grabbing a beer as he listens with interest to Burcu recounting the events of her day. He flops down into an armchair and crosses his feet up on the coffee table as she finishes, and he eagerly starts retelling his favorite plays from the game.
“There’s a player you would like,” Kemal says, playing with the bottle cap in his free hand, “Nihat. He made some great plays today.”
“Oh yeah? Was he also a bit of a delinquent as a teenager?” Burcu jokes in response.
“No! I meant that you would like him because he’s an underdog,” Kemal clarifies with a laugh, “You know, a few weeks ago, one of the managers was on my ass to get rid of him. Numbers show that he’s been underperforming for three years, apparently.”
“Hm,” Burcu muses, “And you convinced them to let Nihat stay, despite the numbers?”
“Well.. I still think that our actions are what largely define us. But, as an incredibly intelligent, incredibly passionate woman once taught me, it goes beyond our actions, beyond what’s in the file. There’s something else that matters; potential. And I know Nihat has a lot of potential,” Kemal explains, smiling down at the cord of the phone he’s currently fiddling with.
“Kemal…” Burcu says after a pause, her voice thick with affection.
“What, don’t tell me I’ve rendered you speechless?” Kemal says playfully, trying to steer the conversation away from heavy topics, like how she’s helped him grow and change for the better. They could talk about that, he knows. It would feel good, he knows. But it would also make this whole situation harder; deepening the wound of despite how harmonious they have become, despite how hard they fought for their love, it all led to them having separate lives now.
“Ha!” Burcu gives a watery laugh.
Kemal sets down his empty beer bottle, his eyes roaming around his mostly empty living room, still cluttered with cardboard boxes, desperately looking for something else to talk about. He finally zeroes in on the electric guitar he has propped up near the entrance to the kitchen.
“Hey, you haven’t heard me on the guitar since I’ve moved, huh? Wanna hear a song I’ve been playing around with recently?” he asks.
“I always want to hear you play the guitar,” she says, and Kemal can almost see her smile through the phone.
. . .
All in all, Kemal is in an especially shitty mood by the time he picks up the phone that evening. He had woken up too late to make breakfast and thus had to start the day hungry. His morning was filled with another insufferably long meeting with management, in which they had done nothing but argue in circles. But the icing on the cake, of course, was having to cut practice an hour short after reinjuring his bad leg while demonstrating a play he wanted the team to try.
Talking to Burcu always manages to gently uncurl the ball of red hot anger in his stomach though, and now Kemal is just soaking up the sound of her voice as he replaces the ice pack on his freshly sprained right ankle. She’s going on one of her usual rambles, worrying about how to reduce the stress that the senior class is facing ahead of their university examinations. She’s tried carrying out lessons centered around life messages in literature, as opposed to exam oriented ones, but the students apparently are not receiving them well.
Kemal still feels unhappy with his injury, but at least his anger has mostly cooled down.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Burcu observes after a lull in her story.
“Ah… yeah. It’s just…” Kemal starts, hesitant to burden her with worry or feeling bad about his injury, the unfortunate consequence of being careless.
“Your injury?” she finishes, her voice soft.
Kemal exhales. She knows him so well.
He doesn’t talk about his injury much. Not with his family, with his friends, and especially not with anyone in the world of professional basketball. Nothing productive can really come out of those conversations—there’s no point in talking about what if’s, because he can’t change the past, and there’s no point in listening to people try to comfort him by minimizing what happened, because the reality of the situation is fixed; his career as a player is over. But, he sure as hell doesn’t need to entertain anyone’s pity for it.
Of course, it’s different with Burcu. As it is with most things. While she could never understand how he feels as a professional athlete, she never speaks to him condescendingly, pretending that she does, like some of his family and even doctors do. She doesn’t tiptoe around the subject awkwardly with pitying glances, like his friends do. Kemal first opened up to her about his injury a few weeks after they had started dating, and she listened.
She always listens perfectly, carding her hand through his hair or squeezing his hand or rubbing his back comfortingly, only interjecting with words when she can sense that he wants her to share her thoughts. He has never felt so safe sharing with someone before. He knows it’s because he’s never loved and trusted anyone like he has with her.
“Yeah. Re-sprained the bad ankle at practice today,” he finally responds.
“Oh, Kemal,” she sighs, “I’m so sorry. I’ll… I’ll bake something for you tomorrow and send it in an overnight package.”
Kemal laughs softly. Always so selfless, she is. Doing whatever she can to help him and everyone else, making the world a better place one act of kindness at a time.
He would truly give anything to be having this conversation lying in bed together, with her in his arms. Hell, he’d take talking to her across the couch, or even in his old office at the school, where he could at least see her face.
“You really don’t have to,” he assures her, “you know, it’s not your baking that I miss the most.”
“It’s my massages, of course,” she answers knowingly.
He hums in agreement. Back when they were together, whenever she could tell his leg was cramping up, Burcu would stop whatever she was doing and draw his leg into her lap, slowly massaging it from his shin to the ball of his foot, past his ankle, all the while peppering it gently with kisses.
“While I’m complaining,” he starts again, to which she laughs, following his lead with dropping the leg subject, “the guys keep bothering me about going to a kickback Tarık is hosting on Saturday, and I’m running out of ways to politely tell them that those things bore me to death.”
“Nuh uh!” Burcu exclaims, “You’re definitely going to that party!”
“What?” Kemal asks, taken aback by her startlingly passionate response.
“Come on!” Burcu says in the same forceful tone, “I know you’ve missed the last few, you let it slip on call two weeks ago that they had invited you to their last party, and you declined for no reason! And don’t tell me you had something to do instead, because I know you didn’t, you were calling me. But Kemal, you have to show more team spirit. Lead by example! Besides, how bad can those things really be?”
That’s the thing—he was busy. Busy talking to Burcu, which was an infinitely more fun and fulfilling way to spend his evening than a house party. He sighs, knowing she won’t accept that as a good reason.
“Alright,” he relents, “I hardly think going to a party is showing my team spirit by leading through exemplary behavior, but I guess I’ll go, only because I know it’ll make you happy.”
“Yes!” he hears Burcu cheer through the phone, and Kemal smiles, despite having just promised away his Saturday night to hours of boredom.
. . .
The team tradition of partying at Tarık’s house has been in place long before Kemal has been coaching, and they’ve been inviting him each time since their victory against their rivals all those months ago. Kemal can’t say he’s had much fun at any of the ones he’s attended so far.
Kemal’s younger self, maybe ten years ago, would laugh at how he turned out today. He was quite the party animal in his youth, after all, and the tabloids sure did their work to let the world know. Now that he has mellowed out with age, he isn’t interested in trying to convince himself that the shallow fun he has getting blackout drunk with mostly strangers is the way to live. He’s always been an introvert whose idea of real fun is having a beer with a small group of friends he can genuinely connect with, and now that he’s past the height of his celebrity days—and a whole lot wiser—he no longer feels the need to pretend otherwise.
No, his younger self wouldn’t laugh. He would be relieved that Kemal is finally living as his true self.
But, he reasons, this isn’t so bad. Burcu was technically right; especially after declining the invitations to the last few, he needed to show team spirit by showing face at tonight’s kickback. And of course, the free booze doesn’t hurt.
He recalls the last time he was in Tarık’s backyard, sitting alone at a poolside deck chair making his way through a whiskey neat and thinking about Burcu, as always, when Namik had noticed his rather broody mood, and asked him what was wrong.
He still doesn’t know why he decided to open up, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he was glad he did. Snide little comment at practice last month aside, Namik is generally serious and mature, and he was a good listener that night, with insightful comments.
“It sounds like you left a whole world behind you,” Namik had reflected that night.
“A whole other world for sure,” Kemal had agreed, not saying what he was really thinking; my whole world. At the center of which could be none other than Burcu.
Of course, this wasn’t the second time he had held back from saying those exact words. Back in Istanbul, the horrible night he and Burcu broke up, she told him that he lived in a whole different world, in which there was no room for her. He wanted to stop her, he wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, he wanted to cry and beg her not to go, but the shock, and perhaps the feeling deep down that they would never work until she overcame her insecurity, stopped him.
“A world without you,” is all he said to her, but he really wanted to tell her that she was the center of his world, there was not and could never be a “his world” without her.
Kemal laughs to himself suddenly, the irony of spending alone time at a party thinking of Burcu, when he only came to the party in the first place because of her, hits him. He’s absolutely not surprised with himself, and imagines what she would say if he told her. She would probably find it sweet, but joke that he’s being pathetic, Kemal predicts.
He sighs, figuring he should at least socialize with a few people before calling it a night. He catches sight of Nihat and his girlfriend, chatting a few meters away with another player, and a woman Kemal does not recognize. He makes his way over to the four of them.
“What’s up, coach?” Nihat greets him, “Nice to finally see you here.”
Kemal chuckles.
“Yeah, yeah. Figured I could clear up some space in my super busy schedule for the team,” he jokes.
They all start recounting the last game, and Kemal compliments Nihat on his performance. After a few minutes, Nihat and the other player spot a mutual friend that they apparently haven’t seen in months, at the other side of the backyard, and quickly excuse themselves from the conversation, Nihat’s girlfriend in tow.
Kemal mentally sighs, wracking his brain for a quick excuse to tell the woman whose name he had not managed to remember, before the silence between them gets awkward. He wants to make it home to say at least a quick hello to Burcu before she sleeps. Unfortunately, he isn’t fast enough, and the woman starts talking to him.
“Soooo…” she begins in what Kemal can describe in no other way but sultry, “you’re the coach, or something?”
She drags her eyes across his body from head to toe in a painfully obvious manner, and Kemal clears his throat.
“Right, that’s me. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I actually need to head out, because—” he starts.
“I’m Elçin,” she interrupts.
“Well, it was nice talking to you, Elçin,” Kemal tries again, “but as I was saying, I really need to—,”
“I think we could have some fun together,” Elçin continues, taking a step closer to him, “if you catch my drift. Or you could take me out first, if you’re that kind of guy,” she finishes with a wink.
He has a sudden, unpleasant reminder of Billur, and takes a step back.
“No, thanks,” he says, keeping it short.
“Why the hell not?” Elçin says with a scowl, “You have a girlfriend or something?”
“I…” Kemal says. He doesn’t actually have a girlfriend at the moment, but he isn’t sure how to articulate that while single by definition, he is most definitely off the market.
“I’m not interested,” is what Kemal settles for.
“I get it,” Elçin says, a sly smile replacing her scowl, “you’ve got a big ego, so you’re playing hard to get. But it’s okay, I can be patient. If you’re busy tonight, any other day next week works for me.”
“I’m busy every night, actually,” Kemal replies curtly, and turns around to leave, forgoing any past attempts at politeness.
Well, he tried. That’s enough socializing for a while, he thinks. He was direct and truthful with Elçin—he is the farthest thing from interested, and he really is busy with someone else every night, albeit through a phone. There was nothing else he could have done, and he really is losing his patience for dealing with these kinds of people, instead of spending time with the person he wants.
. . .
Kemal is perched in his armchair, holding the dial box in his right hand, and the phone in his left, listening to the dial tone. It’s been ringing for fairly long, which is odd, Burcu is usually home by now.
His absentminded wonderings are cut short as he hears the clatter of her picking up the phone.
“Hello?” she answers, and Kemal thinks she sounds tired.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Okay. I only just made it to the phone,” she says, and yup, she definitely sounds tired.
“No need to hurry. We have the whole night,” Kemal reassures her, staring off into space as he pictures her frazzled, exhausted from overtime at the school.
“Still,” she sighs, “there’s so much I want to tell you. Kemal, the school is a terrible place right now.”
“Why?” he says, starting to feel concerned. He’s known for months, from their other calls of course, that the school wasn’t exactly the most fun place to be. How could it, when students were practically slaves to exam preparation and consequently having mental breakdowns on a daily basis? Though things must be especially terrible, if Burcu is bothering to comment on it.
“Let me make tea first. You tell me about your day,” she says. Kemal thinks that maybe she’s dismissing his curiosity.
“Burcu, tell me. I’m curious,” he presses, switching the phone to his right hand, a furrow between his brows taking place as he anticipates her next words.
“Are you really? Are you really that concerned?” she asks, and he fights the urge to sigh.
They have made so much progress over the phone these last few months, but sometimes Burcu still says things that show her doubt for Kemal’s care of the students. It’s frustrating, but he never corrected her in the past when she would make those comments, so he sees where she’s coming from. Though now is as good a time as any to convince her that he does care.
“I think about it all the time,” he confesses, “I worry about Sinan.”
“So tell me. Tell me, what can I do for him? I can’t help him because I don’t know what the problem is,” Burcu says.
“You shouldn’t do it anyway. We’re not supposed to intervene, you know. Because it hurts his pride. It’s a shitty situation,” Kemal explains. He hates feeling powerless like this, but he also knows that if he were in Sinan’s place, he would feel just as prideful.
“I miss you a lot, too,” he can’t help but add, “I don’t even know what I’m doing all day. I’m always thinking about coming home and calling you.”
Since he met her, Kemal has never shied away from being straightforward with Burcu about his feelings. But, when he moved away and they’ve been in this uncertain limbo of being broken up, he definitely put a filter on, stopping himself from saying all of the sickeningly romantic things that came to mind. Now, he knows they’ve built their way back to a place where he feels comfortable admitting bolder thoughts again.
After a pause, Burcu responds.
“Come back, then,” she says.
Automatically, he sits up straighter. His heart starts to race, and he can hardly believe his ears.
“Come back. To here. To me,” she continues.
He smiles shakily.
“Really? You think I should? It’ll only take one word from you. That’s how close I am,” he says, and he hadn’t realized just how true that was until now.
Kemal knows they are finally ready. Burcu had first pulled away from him for two reasons; her uncertainty of his feelings and her opinion of her worth. The fact that they had gotten together by the pushing of a bunch of kids, and the whole professional basketball player thing really exacerbated both issues, unfortunately. Sometimes he thinks it’s crazy how she felt that way, he almost thinks she’s the one that’s too good for him. But, everyone can have insecurities.
When Burcu first came to him in that gorgeous red dress, in the few minutes before she broke up with him, he had hope. She finally realized and accepted his strong feelings for her, and he thought things would be okay until she started talking about how she had no place in his world, and his heart sank, knowing that things weren’t where they needed to be yet.
She couldn’t have asked him to stay that night, because she didn’t believe in her self worth enough, and this wasn’t something he could help with.
“You’re going to have to find those answers for yourself,” he had told her at school long ago, when she was frustrated and couldn’t understand his feelings, and he meant it. You need to be equals in a relationship, and for that to happen each person needs to first and foremost love themself, and then the other person.
But now, hearing Burcu ask him to come back, Kemal knows that at last she is at this point. She has done a lot of growing on her own these past few months—of which he has heard plenty of evidence from their phone calls—and she has finally come around to recognize him and herself as equals.
“Come,” she says with a small chuckle, “come back, then.”
Immediately, Kemal feels so much lighter, like a weight that he hadn’t known he was carrying around for months had just evaporated.
They are both quiet for a few seconds, content and excited for what is to come.
“Hey, you never told me what was going on at the school,” Kemal remembers.
Burcu gives a heavy sigh.
“Oh, just Necdet up to his usual awful behavior. He called an assembly today to announce a plethora of new rules and changes to the schedule. No more lunch breaks, added classes, canceling electives, extending the school day in both the morning and afternoon. Things like that. As if the students aren’t all on their last straws already. Oh, and not to mention the ridiculous, giant cloth canvas of his portrait accompanied by some quote with a twisted interpretation of success that he unveiled outside of the front doors,” she explains.
“Pardon, he did what?!” Kemal exclaims, outraged though not surprised, knowing Necdet well enough by now to be familiar with his incredibly narcissistic behavioral patterns.
“We’ve got to do something about that asshole when I get back,” he continues, “your favorite group of kids definitely had the right idea scheming in that aspect, at least.”
“Kemal…” Burcu says tentatively, “I get it, now. I know you care about the kids. I’m sorry I didn’t realize before that you just express your care differently. And I’m sorry for saying you only took the Vice Principal job to get out of teaching.”
Kemal feels so relieved to hear her say that, like the last of their loose ends has finally been tied up.
“It’s alright, it’s all in the past now,” he promises her, “and what you said wasn’t completely unfounded. I did initially take the job because I thought it was easy, but I grew to care about the kids too, and I’m just glad you finally realized that.”
“Of course, I am too. But… why didn’t you ever say anything? I mean, I was so harsh and unfairly judging you, and you never tried to correct me!” she says, and Kemal can tell that she still feels bad.
“I don’t fully know,” he answers honestly, “I think part of it was that I wanted you to realize that I cared by yourself. Maybe a part of it was that I wasn’t sure you would have believed me if I told you. But really, Burcu, it’s okay. The important thing is that you did get there eventually.”
Burcu sighs, and Kemal senses his words had not completely reassured her.
“Regardless, I’m really sorry. I know I have a problem with assuming and overreacting to my assumptions, instead of asking you first how you feel. Not just about the school, but the night we broke up, too. I’m sorry I assumed that you were ready to say goodbye to me,” she says.
“Burcu, it’s okay. I promise. Now, what matters is that you realized what went wrong, you’ve grown from it, and from now on you’ll be making conscious efforts not to make the same mistakes. And while we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for suspending you from school, even though I can’t take back the mark it made on your record,” Kemal replies.
“Oh Kemal,” Burcu says, and he is happy to hear her regain the affectionate note in her voice, “like you said, that’s all behind us now. The most important thing is that we love each other, you’re coming back, and we can finally be together with no more obstacles.”
Kemal hums in acknowledgement. She couldn’t be more right.
. . .
It’s been four days since he and Burcu decided that he would move back to Istanbul, and he’s all set to leave tomorrow. Despite the Karşıyaka management being as conflictive as ever, he sorted out the termination of his coaching contract in what he thinks must be record time in the league. He had an excellent motivation, after all. The best kind. He’s also all packed up for the moving trucks to come by later today—he never ended up unpacking much of anything, anyway. All that is left to do is say his farewell to the team.
After he polishes off his dinner that night, he dials Burcu’s number. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, you,” Burcu greets him, and he immediately grins.
“Hey, yourself,” he teases back.
“What time can I expect you by tomorrow?” she asks.
“Hopefully around 14:00. I’m going to stop by the gym first thing in the morning to tell the team goodbye, then I’ll be on the first plane out of Izmir, and then into the first taxi out of the Istanbul airport,” he answers.
“Sounds good, I’ll be waiting for you at home,” she says.
“I know,” he responds. He cannot wait to finally be home.