I pushed myself upright in bed, let my legs dangle over the edge, and slipped my feet into my slippers. After spending the next five minutes staring at the floor and questioning my entire existence, I finally felt ready to get up.
About half an hour later, after finishing my hair, makeup, and outfit, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, inspecting myself.
I had once again showcased the classic Duru Ulusoy style.
Wavy, reddish ponytail pinned down with what felt like forty bobby pins: check.
Eye makeup—liner, pencil, mascara—highlighting my tiny brown eyes, and my favorite burgundy lipstick: check.
An oversized, soft burgundy sweatshirt, black skinny pants, and boots: check.
Just like always, I was ready for class in my unglamorous, comfort-over-beauty mode.
When the sharp November wind slapped me in the face as I stepped out of the building, my whole body whispered, "Oh please, education only matters so much—protect your inner peace and go back to bed." But I forced myself to keep walking, picking up my pace toward campus.
"Define elasticity for me… You, go ahead," the professor said.
While Selim struggled to answer from his seat, I finally managed to finish copying the last formula on the board.
When I lifted my head and accidentally locked eyes with our unpleasant professor—clearly unimpressed with Selim's answer—I immediately looked back at the board.
Showing off wasn't my style. Not because I didn't know the answer—just because I had no desire to perform.
"No, that's too complex. What was your name again?"
"Selim, sir."
"Selim, you need to keep it simple. Like: 'What color is the wall? Yellow!' Basic, straightforward, universally understandable."
And that was exactly the moment my lifelong hatred for the color yellow began. As if his useless comments weren't annoying enough, his entire personality was a masterclass in irritation.
His nose was so far up in the air, he acted like he was a gift to the scientific world and we were pathetic peasants blessed with the privilege of hearing him speak.
In short, he was the type of man who inhaled not to fill his lungs, but to inflate his ego—and his appearance didn't help his case either.
With a belly marching two steps ahead of him and legs like toothpicks, he looked exactly like a tomato skewered on two sticks.
As always, I turned to my fellow sufferer Aylin, sitting beside me in shared misery. "Let this class end already. I'm dying inside."
While whispering to her, I sneaked a look at the time on my phone under the desk. Seven minutes left—thank God. I flashed seven fingers at Aylin with a grin, and she smirked before going back to her notes.Aylin was my only close female friend in the department—and considering there were barely ten girls in our entire year, that was pretty normal.
We'd met two years ago in our technical drawing class. Since I hated drawing with every fiber of my being, she always helped me out—sometimes even did my assignments herself, bless her soul.
With her soft curves, medium height, light brown hair, and warm hazel eyes, she was the kind of girl who looked genuinely sweet.
Her personality, though, was even better than her looks. Despite being stylish and perfectly put-together, she didn't have an ounce of jealousy or competitiveness in her—just pure kindness and a habit of helping everyone.
And when someone managed to poke her feminist nerve, oh boy—she'd go off, scolding men twice her size without even blinking.
"Sir, it's lunchtime already—maybe we can save the new topic for next week?" Barış voiced what the entire class was silently praying for, and I turned my attention back to the professor.
When the professor actually agreed, I leaned back and whispered to Barış: "You're the man, bro!"
He put a hand dramatically over his chest and said, "Anytime!" which made me laugh before I turned back around and nudged Aylin instead.
"Come on, come on! Let's go to the cafeteria. I'm starving."
Aylin put on her jacket with a dramatic sigh "At least let me gather my stuff first, Duru!" while I had already shoved everything into our bags at lightning speed.
"No need, I got everything. Come on."
As we left the classroom and headed toward the stairs, my phone started ringing.
Good luck finding your phone in a bag where you've stuffed your entire life, Duru!
Since I wasn't blessed with the masculine superpower of pulling a phone from a pocket in one smooth motion, I had to dig through my bag like a bingo announcer.
One hand held the strap, the other was buried inside—muttering curses until I finally found the phone and answered.
"Hi, Feyza… Yeah, we just left… We're coming… Okay, I'll tell her… See you."
As I sent my phone back into the abyss of my bag, Aylin hooked her arm through mine.
When we stepped outside and the cold hit with a violence that felt personal.