Page 31 of Baran
Baran found himself in a park where the carefully manicured lawn and organized benches seemed to mock the chaos in his heart. He collapsed onto a green metal bench, watching pigeons peck at scattered breadcrumbs while office workers enjoyed their late lunches. His father’s rejection felt like a deep wound, raw and bleeding.
The distant sound of the library’s stone lions being power-washed mixed with the chattering of nearby students. Baran pulled his knees to his chest, making himself small, just as he had felt the night when his father had thrown him out. The first snowflake landed on Baran’s sleeve as he sat hunched over on the cold metal bench. Within minutes, the gentle flutter transformed into a steady cascade of white, with each flake, as they descended from the darkening sky, catching the glow of streetlamps. The snow began to accumulate on his shoulders, melting through his thin jacket and dampening his shirt. He shivered, pulling his arms tighter around himself, but the cold had already settled deep into his bones.
Rising from the bench, Baran trudged through the thickening snow toward the subway entrance. His shoes, already soaked from the slush, squeaked against the worn steps as he descended into the station. The familiar screech of trains and murmur of voices echoed through the tunnels. He swiped hisMetroCard and boarded the Brooklyn-bound train, grateful for its warmth despite the graffiti-marked windows and torn seats.
As the train lurched forward, Baran leaned his head against the foggy window, watching the dark tunnel walls flash by. His mind drifted to Istanbul—to winter evenings spent in cafes with his college friends, sharing plates of börek and endless cups of tea while discussing philosophy and politics. He could almost smell the spices from the street vendors’ carts, hear the call to prayer echoing across the Bosphorus. Here, in this cold city, he felt more alone than ever.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him from his reverie. Daddy Darien’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello?” Baran’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Baran? Where are you? I came back to the shelter, and they said you left hours ago.” Daddy Darien’s voice carried both concern and confusion.
“I’m…I’m on the train to Brooklyn.” Baran swallowed hard, watching another station blur past.
“What happened? Why did you leave work?” The worry in Daddy Darien’s voice made Baran’s chest tighten.
“I couldn’t…” Baran’s voice cracked. “I just…I couldn’t stay there. Everything here is so different, so foreign. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying anything,” he lied.
There was a brief silence on the line. “Which stop are you near?”
Baran glanced up at the subway map. “Coming up to Atlantic Avenue.”
“Get off there and wait by the station entrance. I’m coming to get you.” Daddy Darien’s tone was firm but gentle. “It’s too cold to be wandering around like this.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. We don’t leave family out in the cold, Baran. Just wait for me, okay?”
Family.The word hung in the air between them. “Okay,” Baran whispered, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’ll wait by the entrance on the northwest side.”
“Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And, Baran?”
“Yes?”
“It’s okay to miss home. But you’re not alone here. Remember that.”
As Baran ended the call, he noticed his reflection in the subway window—snow still melting in his dark hair, his face pale from the cold. The train slowed, and for the first time since the snow began to fall, he felt a small warmth grow in his chest. Maybe Daddy Darien was right. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
Chapter Fourteen
Darien
Darien gripped the steeringwheel tightly as he navigated through the snow-covered streets of New York. The windshield wipers worked furiously against the heavy snowfall, creating a hypnotic rhythm that matched his racing thoughts. Baran’s sudden departure from the shelter had left him unsettled. The excuse about homesickness rang hollow in his mind—he knew there had to be more to the story.
Traffic crawled along the Brooklyn Bridge, giving Darien too much time to dwell on the situation. The city lights reflectedoff the wet asphalt, creating a kaleidoscope of colors through his windshield. He remembered how much Miss Archer disliked Baran and wondered if something had happened between them.
After circling, he found a parking spot near the subway station and hurried through the swirling snow. His footprints left dark impressions in the fresh powder as he descended the subway stairs, scanning the platform for any sign of Baran.
He spotted him immediately. Baran was huddled on a bench, his dark hair matted with melting snow, clothes soaked through. His eyes were red-rimmed, either from crying or the bitter cold—perhaps both. He looked smaller somehow, diminished, nothing like the confident young man who had brightened the shelter hall and his home with his presence.
“Baran!” Darien called out, rushing forward. He grabbed Baran’s hand, shocked by how cold his hand felt even through the wet fabric of his leather jacket. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”
They walked back through the steadily falling snow, Darien practically supporting all of Baran’s weight. Snowflakes caught in their hair and eyelashes as they made their way to the car.
“Why did you really leave?” Darien asked softly, watching Baran’s face in the glow of a streetlamp. “And don’t tell me it was homesickness.”
Baran’s breath came out as a visible puff in the cold air. “I was working through the gala guest list,” he said, his voice rough. “My father’s name was on it. When I called him…” Baran’s voice cracked. “He said I had caused shame to my family. That my call was to con him out of money. He told me never to contact him and hung up.”
