#OTP: Sarp Bey and Hana Hanim | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

isyancialtan · 6 years ago

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[follows this]

The text came as his students were leaving, and thinking it’d be Nilufer’s reaction to the class picture, Sarp reached for his phone.

But instead it was Hana: When can I see you again?

“Who’s that?” Luli demanded, halfway through putting her coat on.

Startled, Sarp looked up, reaching to help her find her sleeve in an attempt to look nonchalant. “Just a friend.” A friend, yes—but in a sudden dash of hope, he thought, maybe not just a friend. They’d find out, anyway, wouldn’t they?!

“Ha!” Luli grabbed his arm. “If somebody makes you smile like that, you keep them!”

Luli’d been married for fifty-seven years, so Sarp figured she knew what she was talking about.

After the classroom was empty, he texted Hana back: Tonight?

Maybe it was too soon; maybe she’d think he was rushing things; maybe she still wanted to try backing off. But after a few stressful seconds, she replied, I’m free after five :)

He couldn’t help the grin that broke over his face—one that lasted while he suggested a pizza place near the coffee shop they’d visited before (where they’d had their first date, he wanted to say, but he pushed that thought down) and she agreed to meet him there. And the feeling of buoyancy stayed with him all day…at least, until he approached the restaurant and saw her waiting outside, and although his heart leapt to see her there was also apprehension, and something desperate and pleading and hopeful.

It took effort not to kiss her cheeks—especially when the night before she’d said his not doing so had worried her—but she’d told him she had to think about everything, and he’d told himself so many times that day that he couldn’t push her. That he had to respect her space and give her time.

But he did offer his hand and a half-smile, searching her eyes. “Friends?”

“No.”

He stared at her, stricken—had she wanted to meet just to break up in person?

But then she smiled, and the glow in her eyes was enough of an answer.

Laughing, he surged toward her, cradling her face and kissing her forehead and then just pressing his forehead to hers, both of them grinning at each other, oblivious to the crowd streaming down the sidewalk or the diners watching through the windows or anything except each other. “Okay,” Sarp murmured, and Hana echoed, “Okay.”

When they finally made it inside, talking was easy again—about their days, about their weekend plans (Sarp was teaching a class on Saturday; Hana’d promised to go shopping with Pauline after Mass on Sunday, “because she wants a new outfit for when she meets Rob’s parents,” she explained)—about interesting coworkers and their cultures and their favorite parts of New York. It was only when the second set of lights in the restaurant turned on, a response to the darkness that’d crept in without either of them noticing, that they realized how late it was, and Sarp said, “That class tomorrow—it’s at the Culinary Institute, out of the city. Do you want to come with me?”

For a moment, Hana faltered. “How far is it?” she asked finally, instead of giving an answer.

“About ninety miles,” he said, “I have to leave around nine, and the class is noon to three. But look.” He reached for his phone, searching for a photo from the last class, and passed it over to her—a group of beaming elementary-schoolers, each holding a chocolate or two, one boy draped over Sarp’s shoulders as he crouched among them.

“Oh,” she said softly, looking at the photo and after a moment zooming in on something—someone’s face, surely, but he couldn’t see whose, and he guessed it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she looked interested, in him or in the kids or the candy.

“It’s a different group this week, but the same school,” he explained—and then, although it was hardly necessary, “They’re very cute.”

Then he grinned. “And now you’re an experienced chocolatier. I could use an assistant.”

Matching his smile, Hana teased, “Do you give the children pear brandy?”

“No one’s asked for it yet.” He laughed. “They care more about how it looks, if they can make swirls of white chocolate or caramel or something else they think looks cool.” Tipping down the phone she still held—it was zoomed to his face, and she blushed—he scrolled over to show a little girl in an oversized t-shirt and a proud grin. “She wanted frosting on top,” he said.

“Did you let her?”

“Of course.” He shrugged, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I didn’t know they had a long car ride home until after she ate a few. She was probably bouncing off the walls.”

Hana giggled, and Sarp rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward and watching her. This, he thought, felt comfortable—talking and laughing and watching her laugh, no matter how much time they had.

“Have you ridden a motorcycle?” he asked after a minute, after they’d both had a bit more pizza.

She stopped chewing, looked at him, and swallowed, her forehead furrowing in what looked like the beginnings of understanding and maybe dread. “…No?”

He grinned. “Then tomorrow will be your first time.”

She grimaced, and he was quick to assure her, “I’m a good driver!” Pulling out his wallet, he tossed his license on the table, then the permit that made it valid outside Turkey. “See?!”

She narrowed her eyes, looking less than thrilled but not saying no. Her lips twitched in amusement at his license photo—it looked like a mugshot—and she pointed to the Turkish writing on the IDP. “What’s that mean?”

“It says what I’ve been arrested for,” he told her. “The time I’ve spent in jail. It’s a warning never to let me drive anyone anywhere.”

His eyes sparkled over the rim of his glass, and when he’d put it down he explained, “It says, ‘International Driving Permit,’ and that’s ‘International Road Traffic Convention, 1949’--whatever that is.” Pointing to the line below, he said, “That means I got it in Istanbul.”

It was strange to think she’d have no concept of the place he’d grown up; just like he hadn’t known anything about New York besides what he’d seen sometimes in movies. But little restaurants like this; the gym; the fact that Hana lived in Astoria, Queens, New York City, New York, United States and was kind and humble and had beautiful eyes? He’d had no idea.

And he wanted to say: “One day you should visit me.”

But even if they were giving each other a chance, even if they were something more than friends, they were something less than forever, at least right now, and he couldn’t keep pushing for more than that. So instead he asked, “What was your neighborhood like in Slovakia?”

And she told him about that and then asked about Istanbul; they talked about places they’d been and they missed and the people they’d left behind. And when it grew too late to ignore and they finally stood, walking into the chilly night air and heading for the subway station, Sarp asked, “So—are you coming tomorrow?”

Please, he thought. But also, don’t push her.

And Hana sighed. “Well,” she said, a grin tugging at her mouth, “I suppose I should make sure you don’t let any other kid drown their chocolate in frosting.”

Laughing, he nodded. “Yeah, I think you should.”

“For their parents�� sake.”

“Right.”

They grinned at each other. “Can I take you home?” Sarp offered, and then, a faint flush coloring his cheeks, “—I mean, to your home. I’ll ride with you.”

And she hesitated, but shook her head. “It’s too far. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not too far.” It was an hour’s ride, or it had been last time, and then he’d have to come another hour back home, and then go back the next morning to pick her up. And for a moment, he thought, he could stay with her, on the couch or the floor where her parents could have no objections—but it was too soon, and too much, and Hana didn’t offer him that.

Instead she said “I take the subway a few stops, then the bus. You could ride until it leaves Manhattan.”

The train was emptier than the last time they’d ridden together, and that kept them from using the crowd as an excuse to stand close. But on the bus they sat next to each other, and both bent over Sarp’s phone as they planned the route for the next morning, and the outside of Hana’s thigh bumped against his as the bus moved. And then, their plans made, Sarp tucked his phone back into his pocket and offered his hand—and she took it.

They didn’t say a word—but they didn’t have to. The way she was looking at him, peeking up through her lashes, and the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles, her callused palm against his, said enough.

As the bus approached the 2nd Avenue stop Sarp asked, “Are you sure you don’t me to come with you?” It wasn’t even ten o’clock, but it was dark, and Hana was alone.

But she was a city girl. Despite the roots she’d told him about, growing up closer to orchards than skyscrapers, she was used to the city now, and he had to admit she seemed sure of herself. “No,” she said, “it’s all right. Thank you.”

He nodded.

But then Hana offered, “I’ll text you when I’m home, all right?”

“All right.” They could feel the bus starting to slow, and he said, “I’ll be there at eight.” He was already dreading waking up early enough to get from Harlem to Queens, much less down to Howard Beach to pick up the bike—but if Hana’d come with him, he’d get up at the crack of dawn.

And she smiled and said softly, “Okay.”

For a moment they just looked at each other, then Sarp leaned forward, kissing her cheeks and then her forehead. “Goodnight, Hana hanim,” he murmured against her skin. She’d put her hands on his chest; his heart beat steadily beneath them, not the racing pulse of infatuation but the solid rhythm of comfort.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

And he let go.

But as he stepped off the bus and saw her wave from the window, his heart rose like helium, and as he caught the westbound bus back he was grinning.

Hana’s coming to class with me, he texted Nilufer on the way back to Sugar Hill. The photo of the kids convinced her.

Are you sure it was the kids? Nilufer sent back a grin emoji, and the heart-eyes, and said, Have fun, oğlum.

And then, because she was his mother and couldn’t stop mothering even from an ocean away: Drive safely. Wear a helmet!

Yes, anne, he answered, with an eyeroll and laughter.

Just as he was unlocking his door, Hana texted, I’m home! See you tomorrow.

Bright and early, he promised. And while he was thinking about it, he set his alarm, and a second one just to be safe. Wear long pants and a jacket if you have it.

I hope you don’t plan to crash, she said.

No, he answered, but you need to look the part. A sunglasses emoji completed the text, and a wink, but then he added, Good night, tatlım.

Good night, zlatko.

He looked up the meaning—and despite knowing he’d have to wake up in a few short hours, he was still grinning as he fell asleep.

#I TOLD YOU I HAD A REASON FOR MOTORCYCLE RENTAL ADS #OTP: Sarp Bey and Hana Hanim #Sarp and Hana Stories

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isyancialtan · 6 years ago

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(follows this - part of this series)

If Sarp hadn’t had his phone screen-side-up in his open locker, he wouldn’t have known it was ringing.

“Anne?” He had to shout over blaring hip-hop and the coaches’ yelling, gloved fists hitting bags and the crash of weights and the roar of an industrial fan doing too little to cool the humid air. Even covering his other ear to concentrate the sound, he couldn’t hear Nilüfer’s voice. “Just a minute, I’ll go outside.”

Bracing the phone to his ear, he tucked the last of his stuff—gloves, still-damp towel, water bottle, lock—in his bag and slung it over his shoulder, clapping Enrique’s back as he passed and giving Mark a nod. His first week in New York, he’d been assured that a kickboxing studio not far from his Airbnb in Sugar Hill offered open gym times and a range of training programs…but when he’d showed up on a weekday afternoon, it’d been full of middle-aged women doing something that looked more like dancing than boxing, and most had seemed more interested in flirting than fighting. “Soccer moms,” Enrique had called them, laughing, when Sarp told him about it.

Anyway, he was glad he’d found Church Street, and a couple of guys to be friends with, even if the gym’s location in Tribeca meant he had to go right before or right after work to avoid backtracking the half-hour subway ride. But Nilüfer took precedence over hanging around to talk, and he jogged up the stairs, coming out at street level to a sun-drenched blue sky and the bustle of morning traffic.

“Anne?” he asked again, sitting down on the steps. “You there?”

“Where were you, a club?”

Sarp laughed. “It’s morning here, Mum. I was at the gym.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you want to call back?”

“No,” he said quickly, “I was done. It’s fine.” In Istanbul, maybe, if he’d been in the middle of a workout he might have let her go to voicemail. But here, across the ocean from home, he would have stopped a match just to talk to her. “How was work?”

“It was fine.” No surgeries that had reminded her of something bad that could happen to him, then. “How’s your day?”

“It’s okay.”

As Enrique came out the door, back in his suit for a Friday on Wall Street, Sarp smiled a goodbye, then it turned to a laugh when Nilüfer urged, “I want more pictures! Send me one of your gym.”

“It’s just a gym,” he said, “nothing different. Anyway, you can see for yourself when you visit.”

“You know I don’t like seeing you fight.”

“I’m not fighting! I’m talking about you. We’ll start promoting you now, and when you get here you’ll be all set to step in the ring. I’m sure they’ve got gloves that’ll fit you.”

Nilüfer laughed. “And what about Hana? Did you have a good time last night?”

He paused, then, the echo of When are you leaving? and I need to think about it and I’m sorry I ruined your first time at a diner and finally her sudden, silent exit all rushing into his mind—as if they hadn’t replayed in endless loops the night before, as if he hadn’t taken it out on the bag this morning. And he said, finally, “…I don’t know.”

“Oğlum,” she said, and he could picture her face right then, her head tilted, brow furrowed, sympathy in her eyes. It’d hurt less, he thought, if he didn’t know exactly what he was missing. “What happened?”

He heard the door creak open behind him, and his gaze fell from the street ahead to the dirty steps he was sitting on—he didn’t want to invite anyone else into this conversation. If he couldn’t have Nilüfer there, he could at least give her all his attention. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I mean, nothing bad, just—we talked about when I leave.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, anne. I don’t know when I’ll be back here, and—”

Whoever’d come outside hadn’t passed him yet, but all of a sudden there were neon orange sneakers in his line of sight; a scrap of paper held out to him. He looked up. “Call me,” mouthed the girl, miming a phone to her ear. With a wink and a grin she was gone, jogging down the sidewalk, and he opened the paper—it was a phone number and the name “Cassie” next to a heart.

“Sarp?” said Nilüfer.

“Yeah.” He folded the paper back up. “…I think she doesn’t want to get hurt.”

He could practically see his mother frowning. “Hurt? You won’t hurt her.”

That was an awful lot of faith in him—faith he couldn’t risk betraying. “Yeah, but—” He sighed. “—Don’t get all excited, but—it was kind of a little more than friends.”

To Nilüfer’s great credit, Sarp thought, she didn’t gasp, or cheer, or tease, or do anything other than pause for a moment. Finally she asked, “What did you tell her?”

“That we could still be friends, even if she doesn’t want anything more.”

“And what did she say?”

“That she’d think about it.”

She was quiet again, and then she just asked, “Are you okay?”

It was so different from what he’d expected—he’d expected her to tell him that Hana would change her mind, or how to fix it, or even that he’d find someone else. He was ready to deal with any of that. But this, her gentle, familiar voice and the whisper of Turkish amid all the strangers speaking everything but, combined with a question he’d tried to avoid thinking about, made him more homesick than the whole month he’d been away, and his silence was answer enough.

“Oh, balım,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, shoved his hair back, looked at the pigeon pecking at crumbs from the sandwich shop next door instead of imagining his mother’s face. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

“Listen,” she said. “Maybe you’re leaving New York in two months. And you’ll leave London after that. But then sometime you’ll go to New York again, and the world is smaller than it seemed before you started travelling like this—it’s easy to stay in touch.” Her voice softened. “If it wasn’t, I’d miss you too much.”

“Damn it,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face.

“You okay?” It was Mark, his gloves dangling from the backpack slung over one shoulder.

Sarp gave him a half-smile. “Yeah.”

Mark nodded, gripping Sarp’s shoulder before striding off toward the subway, and Nilüfer said, “Canım, listen. You’ll make it work if it’s meant to be—friends or more.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And if not—you had good times, met the ablalar. And you’ll have good times again.”

He nodded. “You’ll have to meet them,” he said, coughing to clear the choked feeling in his throat. “They want to see you.”

“I’ll meet everyone.”

And maybe, he hoped, that’d include Hana. “I can’t wait ‘til you get here,” he told her, “you’ll love it.” Because, for all its quirks, New York was nothing like anywhere he’d ever been. Pictures couldn’t do it justice—she needed to see it in person. But then he added, more softly, “…I miss you.”

“I miss you too, bir tanem.” Then a smile warmed her voice again, and she said, “Send me pictures from work, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, finally laughing, and got to his feet. “Chocolate looks the same here, you know.”

“Then put something else in the picture. Your students, or the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Even as he rolled his eyes, the grin didn’t leave his face, and he knew he’d end up finding something to send to her. “What are you making for dinner?”

“Manti. I told Taso I’d give him some.”

“He’s going to get spoiled.” Really, Sarp was glad he was checking up on her.

“No, I’m glad. I’m not used to cooking with you gone; I always make too much.”

“Well, I’ll cook when you get here, all right? Whatever you want. And you won’t have to share with anybody.”

“I’m happy to share with you. Or Taso!” Sarp heard the timer ding in the background—wasn’t it crazy, hearing the timer in their kitchen in Istanbul when he was here in New York?—and Nilüfer said, “That’s the first batch. It takes longer to make by myself.”

“Make Taso help next time,” he retorted, and then, “Send me pictures.”

She laughed. “I will.”

He was almost to work, the ICC’s orange awnings in view, and he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Whenever you need to.” Sarp heard the clatter of a baking sheet on the oven rack and then the creak of the oven door. “I love you, oğlum.”

“Love you too.”

He tucked his phone in his pocket, realizing as he went through the door that he was still holding Cassie’s number. And for a moment, he almost put that in his pocket, too—just in case Hana didn’t call.

But Nilüfer’d said they could be friends, still, and Sarp hoped she was right, and even if she wasn’t, he didn’t want to move on just yet. Hana was worth more than that—she meant more than that.

So, as he entered his kitchen, he dropped the paper into the trash, then reached for an apron, turning on the double boiler and starting to pull out ingredients. Then, as nine o’ clock neared and his students arrived—Luli, the elderly woman who walked over from Chinatown; Remy, who’d promised to teach Sarp to make Cajun food despite having to wade through each other’s accents; Beth, fresh out of high school and determined to own a bakery no matter how many burned fingers or tipped bowls it took; a half-dozen others—he rounded them up for a picture. “My mum wants to see you,” he told them.

Reaching for his phone, Luli insisted, “She wants to see you with them,” with all the experience of being a mother, grandmother, and, she’d just announced last class, a great-grandmother.

“But it’s not our whole class without you.”

That was how Sarp ended up teaching a seventy-six-year-old woman to take a group selfie, their laughter as they crowded to fit within her reach captured on the screen (and in a video, and in a burst). Later, as their raspberry squares were cooling, he sent it to Nilüfer. This is my chocolate class, he wrote, you’ll love them all.

She responded with a photo of Taso holding a big bowl of manti. I’m sure I will, she said. It’s good to see you looking happy.

That morning, “happy” had seemed like a stretch. But now, surrounded by laughter and learning and chocolate, it seemed within reach again. Maybe Hana hadn’t contacted him yet—maybe she never would. And that would hurt—but he had Enrique and Mark at the gym, and his class here, and most importantly Taso and Nilüfer.

Don’t worry about me, he told her. Things are fine.

Maybe not everything—but most things.

And as Luli wrangled the class into another picture (“with the chocolate this time!”, she was saying), Sarp was willing to let that be enough.

#Sarp and Hana Stories #OTP: Sarp Bey and Hana Hanim #Sarp and Nilufer

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isyancialtan · 5 years ago

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^^^ I AGREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS is not only a list of things I too love, but brilliant character analyses. (Also, YOU are a pal!!!!)

Hana, Pauline, Skittery, Dave, Judith, Sarp, and Maral for the "one thing I love" meme!!!

Hana: This is probably the hardest one, since there’s so much about her that I love. Apart from her background, which it goes without saying I find fascinating, I love that she works hard without complaining or expecting praise, that she’s resilient and adaptable, and that she’s open to learning and experiencing new things. If I could be more like Hana, that would be a wonderful thing.

Pauline: Her fierceness. Pauline isn’t belligerent; she doesn’t want to start fights, and doesn’t go out of her way to confront others. But if circumstances call for it, she will not shy away from defending herself or her friends, whether that defense comes in the form of words or a well-aimed hatpin.

Skittery: Having, through repeated watching, developed a finely-tuned sense of where he is in pretty much every scene he appears in, I like seeing his relationships with the other boys. He looks after Tumbler, of course, but he roughhouses with Dutchy and Specs, he leans on Mush, he comes to David’s defense, he gambles with Race. And though they accuse him of being melancholy and unintelligent, that doesn’t mean they don’t want him around. He’s very much one of them.

Plus he has amazing hat hair and a pleasant singing voice and such a pretty smile.

Dave: How his righteous indignation is backed up with logic and honed by sarcasm. His moral compass is sturdy, and he puts a lot of contemplation and research into what he believes and why. That’s why when two grubby newsboys charge into Joseph Pulitzer’s office they’re both convinced that what they’re doing is right, but one of them has the figures to convince the publisher that he’s in the wrong–maybe not morally, but financially; since that’s what’s most important to Pulitzer, that’s the tool Dave is going to use.

Judith: She’s living the dream: she makes her living doing something that she loves and at which she excels. I love that for her (all of my girls are so competent, so good at what they do!), and I’ve learned so much about the history of photography from her.

Sarp: When he gets to act his age. I think he’d like people to believe that he’s this cool, disaffected guy who doesn’t care about anyone but himself, but that’s patently untrue; he cares deeply about others, some more so than he cares about himself. Because of that he’s willing to do things for them at the expense of his own safety, but also his dignity. He’s willing to make himself look ridiculous, whether by wearing a Hello Kitty shirt or a pair of oversized sunglasses, to make Maral laugh; he’ll sing and dance and joke with Taso. That’s when we get to see him being a normal twentysomething with a mom who dotes on him and friends who stick by him and a job he’s great at.

Maral: Her ability to communicate with others. She seems able to persuade others without manipulating them; she’s even able to convince someone she has a rocky relationship with to take better care of herself. Maral’s empathy isn’t necessarily an advantage when it comes to doing business, especially as a manager, but it’s a great thing to have as a human being. Also, she wears cool earrings.

[BONUS, NOT THAT YOU ASKED BUT you: I love that you’ve welcomed and accepted my girls and my writing and me! You’re a pal and an inspiration.]

#about #OTP: En Guzel Hikayem #OTP: Sarp bey and Hana hanim

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