I am at the company where Deniz works while she talks to the boss about my hiring. I'm sitting in an impeccable reception chair, wearing a super uncomfortable outfit my sister lent me. I'm wearing a black pencil skirt that goes down to my knees; it's so tight I can feel the fabric stretch with every move, forcing me to take tiny steps. Because of this, I won't risk standing up, not even to look for the tea I love so much, although here the strong aroma of coffee dominates the air and everyone seems to be walking around with espresso cups in their hands. The complement to my look is a navy blue blazer with black details and a light blue button-down shirt with a starched collar that itches my neck. On my feet, black pointed-toe shoes that pinch my toes. My hair, which is usually free and voluminous curls, is tied in a bun so tight that Deniz insisted on pulling every last strand.
All of this is the foolproof recipe for discomfort. It seems everyone around me was born wearing suits and silks; I see women parading as if they stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and stylish men with perfect haircuts following the latest trends.
"Aylla, stand up," Deniz says as she leaves the office, guiding me toward my first task. Walking there feels like it takes millennia, since the skirt completely limits my movement. "You have your first mission: make calls and confirm if the guests will attend today's party. Inshallah let everything go well at this party."
During the first few calls, my voice comes out a bit tense, but soon it begins to flow with lightness and friendliness. I finish my chores almost at the same time as Deniz. We are going to this company anniversary party, and this time, I won't let Deniz dress me. For that, I count on my best friend and soul sister, Ezgi. She is a stylist and a blogger, full of beauty and self-care tips. I messaged her during work, and she is already waiting for me with everything set aside.
"Aylla, please don't embarrass me. I have a reputation to uphold at that agency," Deniz says in the car.
"Relax, Ice Queen. I don't even want to be associated with someone who doesn't value comfort and lives to pick on people," I reply, sticking my tongue out at her before we get out.
Arriving at Ezgi's house, I see a stunning dress in a deep blue tone. She applied small stones to the bust that sparkle as the light hits them, and the tulle skirt falls below the knee with a delicate volume. I truly look like a princess straight out of a fairy tale. She does my hair, highlighting my wild curls but organizing them in a half-pony secured by a rhinestone clip. For my feet, she set aside a comfortable black block-heel sandal. I really don't just have a best friend; I have a fairy godmother. The makeup is soft and natural, respecting the fact that I'm not fond of extravagances on my face.
Ezgi is the same age as me, and we are partners in everything, sharing high dreams and the desire for success. A friendship so pure that I can only thank Allah for blessing me. Her style is unique, full of accessories and colors she creates herself. Today she is wearing a white dress shirt with the first buttons open, a black silk scarf around her neck, and black suspenders matching her tailored trousers. She plays with hats and glasses in front of the mirror, showing me the options, and I feel lucky to have her.
"Now for the perfume, but that's up to you, friend. Have fun and don't do anything I wouldn't do! Inshallah for your night."
I apply the perfume I made myself, crafted from wild flowers I collected on my last family trip. I head to the party, which takes place in an immense and luxurious reception hall. Deniz pretends not to see me, and I do the same. I stay with my friend Zeki, a funny intern I met earlier.
"Aylla, our seats are upstairs, room F3, okay?" "No problem, Zeki. I'll go to the bathroom and meet you there."
Suddenly, the room goes silent. A haughty woman enters with a hawk-like gaze, ready to hunt. Zeki watches her in fear. "Zeki, who is she?" I ask. She wears a tight red dress that fits her perfectly, elegant and sexy. Her hair is black as night, short in a modern cut that makes me even consider changing mine one day.
"It's Karli," Zeki whispers. "A childhood friend of the boss's sons. She worked here until she stole several properties, clients, and marketing ideas for the company she built. No one can prove it, but she apparently continues to get information from the company."
There is a short and tense conversation between the man I assume is the big boss and the man next to him, Deniz's boss, Alev. Both seem bothered by her presence. I don't stay to see how the conversation ends; I go to the bathroom and, when I return, the crowd has dispersed to hear the speech for the launch of a new real estate campaign. I go backstage and head for room F3 in the shadows.
"Zeki, where are you?" I ask as I enter the dark room. I can't find anyone. "Finally, you're here."
A man pulls me by the arm, turning me firmly toward him, and kisses me. I lose my breath for what feels like minutes, but I know only seconds passed. He certainly confused me with someone else. In shock, I flee the room and run for the stairs. I call Zeki and find out he got the room numbers mixed up. When I finally sit in the right place, I can't stay still, looking back trying to see into that dark room.
"Look forward," someone next to me complains. "No need to be rude, Allah, Allah!" I retort.
The commercial and the speech pass in a blur; I don't pay any attention. I can only think about the man from the kiss. I remember the beard brushing against my face and the expensive dress shoes that shone in the gloom. My heart squeezes with happiness and my stomach feels like it's doing jumps. I've kissed before, but that was different from everything else. At the end of the party, I walk with my head down, searching for those shoes among the guests, longing to recognize him.
"Aylla, come on! Why are you looking at the floor? Mom and Dad are waiting. Oh, Allah, Allah, isn't it enough to constantly live in a dream world, now you're staring at the floor?" Deniz complains.
Ezgi calls me desperately. I answer, but try to measure my words, as Deniz is a gossip who would tell our mother everything. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KISSED? WHO?" Ezgi screams over the phone.
"I don't know," I whisper, containing my excitement. "Is Deniz next to you?" "Uhum."
Deniz observes me with suspicion. I'd love to trust her, but she has ratted me out many times, even if she says it's her way of protecting me. "Mashallah, I knew that dress was going to kill it. Friend, did you like it?" Ezgi covers.
"YES!" I shout, immediately regretting the volume. "I have to go."
Deniz smiles in a way I know well. "Aylla, did something happen at the party?" She interlaces her arm with mine and rests her head on my shoulder, caressing my arm. It's her old trick for when she knows something good or bad happened. But I stay silent, just smiling at the moonlight through the car window. These are rare moments of peace between us. Deep down, I know the Ice Queen loves me in her own way.
As I enter my room, Ezgi is already there waiting for me, having climbed through the open window just like we did as kids to sneak out. "Who is he?" she asks, holding my arms excitedly.
I look at the albatross poster in my room and say: "Albatross."
"What?" Ezgi moves her hands through my hair, checking if something happened.
"I don't know who he is, Ezgi. I just know he wore expensive shoes and has a beard, but he is my albatross. I'm sure. It was as if I could see a whole future and eternity in that kiss. Time slowed down. My gut tells me it's him."
When she leaves, I catch myself thinking about the moment he pulled me. I felt safe in an overwhelming way. Only Allah knows where I found the strength to pull away, knowing he was confusing me with someone else. Now I wonder if I should have stayed. I never put love into my plans of being a writer and traveling, but feeling it is so inebriating. That kiss was like the last drop of water from the ocean—perfect, short, and I didn't know how to appreciate it enough before it ended.
Glossary
Merhaba: Hi / Hello
Günaydın: Good morning
Bey: Mr. / Sir (used after the name, e.g., Alev Bey)
Inshallah: God willing / Hopefully
Mashallah: What God has willed (used to express appreciation, joy, or to ward off the "evil eye")
Allah, Allah: An expression of surprise, frustration, or disbelief (similar to "My goodness!" or "Good Lord!")