This is one of my favourite layouts in Volume I.
Reading this now, this heart-to-heart between Zeynel and Ayse foreshadows and parallels a future scene in Volume II, when Mora retells the story that has been constructed around him, about the kind of person he was and can always be. It wasn’t my plan when I first wrote this scene (in fact, Volume II had a very different approach for how to handle the Mora/Zeynel conflict). But funny how storytelling works as a process; sometimes it just works out, like a rhyme.
↓ Transcript
Ayşe looks at Zeynel with some concern. “How come? It's not like you've got anything bad about you (I hope)?”
He stutters. “I-it's not like that!” He curls himself into a ball, his face in between his knees. He mumbles softly, “It's just… I don't think I’m worth talking about.”
Ayşe sits down next to him. Speaking with as much gentleness as her strong voice is able, she comforts him, “Zeynel, you're a hafiz, a scholar, well-read and spoken. What's there not to be interested about?”
Zeynel gasps. This is getting too raw now. “Ayşe, you don't understand! That's nothing special! I am just being my parents' son! A deCordoba!"
He slumps his shoulders. He is already backed into this corner now. He may as well confess. “I...I guess I owe you my story now, huh?”
Ayşe tilts her head in agreement. “Yep.”
“I was pretty rude to you last night after all.”
“Yep.”
Zeynel closes his eyes, and sighs.
“Okay… so this is my story…”
-
Ever since God placed him on this earth, academic greatness was expected of him. Not only did he have the world in his head, but also on his shoulders. From the day he learned to read and write up to this point, he had tried his best, to study as much as he could. Yet, despite his education, he sometimes felt that he learned nothing.
He stutters. “I-it's not like that!” He curls himself into a ball, his face in between his knees. He mumbles softly, “It's just… I don't think I’m worth talking about.”
Ayşe sits down next to him. Speaking with as much gentleness as her strong voice is able, she comforts him, “Zeynel, you're a hafiz, a scholar, well-read and spoken. What's there not to be interested about?”
Zeynel gasps. This is getting too raw now. “Ayşe, you don't understand! That's nothing special! I am just being my parents' son! A deCordoba!"
He slumps his shoulders. He is already backed into this corner now. He may as well confess. “I...I guess I owe you my story now, huh?”
Ayşe tilts her head in agreement. “Yep.”
“I was pretty rude to you last night after all.”
“Yep.”
Zeynel closes his eyes, and sighs.
“Okay… so this is my story…”
-
Ever since God placed him on this earth, academic greatness was expected of him. Not only did he have the world in his head, but also on his shoulders. From the day he learned to read and write up to this point, he had tried his best, to study as much as he could. Yet, despite his education, he sometimes felt that he learned nothing.
