In 2016 I said:
“There seems to be something deeper behind his social anxiety than is revealed….BUT since this is not something I would let him talk about (not in his first confession to Ayse!!), guess you all will never fully know. But basically his family recognises he has this problem, and his father tries to protect Zeynel so it doesn’t get any worse (because, for us all with social anxiety, anything that is considered ‘negative’ in a social situation would be good cause for never speaking again). The good thing is: his confidence is still preserved; the bad thing is: it doesn’t get fixed.
I’m planning on other ways to talk more about his anxiety, especially when contrasting it with Grimsley’s easy social confidence (man I haven’t talked about Grimsley here in AGES), who is similarly competent with Ayse but with less patience. When Zeynel gets older the problem is still there but he’s keep it on the down low, just enough to get by and give the impression he’s ok. Close the door, and he wants to go to bed and not speak to anyone for the next few hours.”
For Ayşe, everything makes sense now. His confusion with his surroundings, his quietness, his tendency to follow along with whoever was in charge…
She is at a loss. While she never found herself unlucky to be in the position where she did not know who she was, who she wanted to be, what she wanted, she could empathise. It must be difficult to feel so lost, and to come clean like this to a stranger like her.
As strangers of the opposite sex, they are not allowed to touch each other as a matter of courtesy. However, at this moment, she can only think of one thing to do.
She pats his back, hoping it would give the sobbing boy some small comfort.
“It's alright, Zeynel,” she says. “I promise I won't tell anyone.”
Zeynel uncovers his face from his hands. His eyes are puffy from crying, but he appears to be recovering. He wipes the last of his tears.
He softly says, “No, it's okay. Whatever. I don't care now.”
He graciously takes a cup from Ayşe, which she has so kindly poured tea into.
He continues his rambling, calm and frank this time. “Anyway, that's why I would prefer to listen than talk.”
He sips his tea, slowly, and continues his train of thought. “People live such interesting lives – lives that I couldn't have imagined, couldn't have known about. Their stories fascinate me, no matter how it is told. This is the world books can only ever hint at. This is where Islam lives. I want to sink myself inside its many stories…”
“As it is, I'm only friends with books. I've not met as many people as I would have liked. Drawing out your client’s story so you could find the perfect carpet to commemorate a new chapter of her life… that felt amazing, and to be honest, that was the first time I was myself.”
He slumps his shoulders, ashamed to discover himself so late in life.
Ayşe suggests, “Zeynel. Maybe you need a break. Why don't you tell your baba about all this?”
Zeynel squeaks, as if presented with a radical idea. “Break? Tell him? Ayşe, it's not that easy!”
Ayşe pulls her lips in bewilderment. “Why?”
Zeynel gestures wildly now, trying to find the words to explain his thoughts without saying too much. “He… he knows how I fall apart, how I can't do anything different.”
Ayşe coaxes, “You’ll be fine.”
Zeynel sighs, “Listen, Ayşe. The thing about being sheltered is that I only know one thing, and that's the world my family brought me up in. Out there… I don't know! It isn't going to be nice or full of good people all the time. I don't know how to deal with any hard problem in the real world I haven't read or seen. Let alone talk to anyone. He doesn't believe I can…”
He stops. His attention has turned to the doorway. She follows his gaze.
Selim is already back, sweating and kicking off his shoes.
