R for Ruhsar

Ruhsar, which means 'cheeks make a beautiful face', was a fashion savvy girl from the get go, voted most likely to be a fashion designer at her high school prom. 

Well it all happened as it was meant to. From fashion design college to family textile business, Ruhsar  learnt the ropes of the textile trade from scratch and was good at it. 

A reunion with high school friends was a turning point in her life and career. Of course she did fall in love with Kopi, but she also saw the advantages. An up and coming politician in Istanbul would be her ticket out of the sticks of Konya to the high fashion metropolis. She was attracted to his serious nature and naive ways when it came to love making, refreshing after the raw country boys who craved after her.

Their whirlwind romance of four months ended in a flamboyant traditional wedding in Konya and a terse, she felt, formal reception at the Parliament restaurant in Istanbul. Political big wigs and potential donors. One guest stood out for Ruhsar, prominent media moghul, Dogan of Dogan Holdings, Turkey's own Rupert Murdoch. He had been accompanied by his daughter Zhuhan, the active spinner of the Dogan empire. 

Ruhsar made an impact on Zhuhan Dogan, by her choice of designer wear for the reception, Ice Edge of Bursa. With a name sounding more like a rapper, this young designer was the current rave and Zhuhan was duly impressed. 

The two struck up a friendship. Teas moved on to lunches and within four months Ruhsar was taken on as an assistant editor of Harper's Bazaar Turkey. 

Kopi and Ruhsar worked hard at their careers, harder than at their marriage. Both travelled frequently and separately. Their last holiday together was never. Children were not part of the equation, which was just as well.

Returning to Konya after a seven year hiatus hit a nostalgic note. Perhaps it was seeing her school friends married with a houseful of children, her parents still so much in love with each other and the old cafe where she and Namuk used to hang out, reminded her of something she was missing.

She recalled the brief but intense interlude with Namuk back in college days. It had been a summer love, memorable for its poetic walks in the plains of Cappadocia when young hearts seem to beat as one.

The fact that she had slept with her husbands' best friend never bothered her. After all Namuk was then, Kopi is now.

Namuk joined her for a drink that night, not at the old cafe, but a new jazz bar. They talked about her work, his writing and Kopi's political aspirations. It all sounded pretentious. The writer had lost his words and she had lost her flair. 

They went back to his apartment, which she knew was a mistake, feeling the way she did. They never did have that night cap in the end.