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A MIGRATING BIRD

ELIF SHAFAK

WINTER, IN THIS FORSAKEN town, carries itself like a sultan, ceremonious and controlled, sending emissaries of howling winds and messengers of thunderstorms weeks before to let everyone know that it will be arriving soon. Not this year, though. This time winter descends in a day, if not in a couple of hours, as if determined to catch us unawares. Early in the morning we wake up to a piercing chill, and by midday entire streets are canopied by a white mantle. In the afternoon, the snow, no longer falling in soft flakes, comes down in thick flurries. Those of us who have been able to get to the university now realise we are trapped on campus until the roads are opened again.

My feet crunching in the snow, my boots as heavy as the sand buckets used for fire protection, I make my way to the canteen frequented by students, staff and assistants. I am surprised to find it filled to capacity. It seems as if everyone thinks this will be the best location to wait in until the weather calms down.

There, at a corner table, I see a stranger occupying my usual seat, invading my space, surrounded by my friends. The first thing I notice about him is his hair – wavy and brittle, a blond so pale that, in the anaemic light from the window, it appears almost silver. Amidst people who all have skin and hair of different shades of brown, he looks like a drawing in a colouring book that a child has forgotten to fill in.

As I approach the group, the stranger leans over a notebook and says something that I cannot catch over the noise. My friends clap and laugh. By the time I reach them, the laughter subsides, though their faces are still beaming.

“Ayla, come and join us. We have a visitor; he is learning Turkish!” says Yasemin, whom I have known since first grade.

Why an outsider would move to a place everyone is trying to get away from is a mystery to me. Well, maybe not everybody is eager to leave. I certainly am. Ours is not a fabulous university. Not even the dean cares to pretend otherwise. I cannot help but suspect that while I am wasting time here, my real life awaits elsewhere.