Chapter One

Baran

Baran’s heart pounded with anticipation as he stepped out into the bustling New York City airport. The stress of over eleven grueling hours of flight from Istanbul to America dissipated as the image of his father’s warm embrace flashed through his mind. He’d pictured the familiar smile, the powerful hands, and the comforting scent of his baba. But as minutes turned into a quarter of an hour, and then half an hour, an icy dread seeped into his excitement. Where was his father?

Where was his father? Had something happened? Disappointment suddenly gnawed at him and confusion and hurt replaced the fear as he realized his father wasn’t coming to greet him as promised. A sense of abandonment and the bitter taste of loneliness replaced the joy he’d felt on landing.

He pulled out his phone and sent a message to his father.

Baran: Hey, Baba, I’m here at the airport. Where are you?

Marat Aslan: Take a taxi to my office.

Baran: Yes, Baba. I can’t wait to see you.

Baran stepped out of the taxi, the biting New York December air stinging his face. A thrill traveled through him. He was here. New York City. But more importantly, he was here to spend Christmas with his father.

Baran stood in the imposing skyscraper housing his father’s empire. As the elevator ascended, he felt a sense of pride. His father was a titan of industry, a man whose name commanded respect. He was eager to bask in the reflected glory.

The office was a world of polished marble and glass, a stark contrast to the warmth Baran had expected. The pretty blond woman behind the desk directed him to his father’s office. With his suitcase in tow, he opened the door and took a step inside.

His father sat behind a colossal desk, his face etched with lines of authority and weariness. Yet, when their eyes met, there was a flicker of something else, a darkness Baran couldn’t quite decipher.

His father, a man of steely resolve and imposing stature, rose from behind his desk, his face a now mask of cold indifference. The warmth Baran had expected to find in those familiar eyes was absent, replaced by an indifference.

His father’s voice, low and dangerous, cut through the stillness. “You came here to parade your shame in front of me?”

Baran didn’t understand. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play innocent, Baran,” his father spat. “I know everything. About you. About your…lifestyle. Did you think you could hide you’re gay from me because you live in Istanbul, and I live in New York?” his father shouted venomously. He moved toward Baran.

The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a crushing blow. Baran’s heart pounded in his ears. This was not the conversation he’d rehearsed in his mind. The hug he had longed for evaporated into thin air.

A deafening silence followed as his father stood glaring at him face-to-face. Baran’s throat felt tight, his mind racing. He had intended to hide this part of himself, but he hadn’t expected such a violent reaction if and when his father found out. Who told him? He had no answer to his father’s question. Frozen to the tile floor, he watched as his suitcase slipped from his hand and thudded onto the ground.

His father’s face contorted into a mask of rage. The sound of his large hand contacting Baran’s cheek echoed through the room. The world tilted for a moment as pain exploded across Baran’s face.

“You are a disgrace to this family,” his father roared, his voice echoing in the sterile office. “You will never darken my doorstep again. And mark my words, boy, there’s a price on your head in Turkey. You’re on your own.”

The words were like ice water, seeping into Baran’s soul. Fear, shock, and disbelief warred within him. He was alone, exposed, and utterly terrified.

“But, Baba, I live in Istanbul and go to school there,” Baran pleaded.

“You’re a walking dead man in Turkey. That is, if you can call yourself a man with your disgusting lifestyle.”

His father’s hand connected with his other cheek, sending another jolt of pain through him. The world spun again. He felt a hot, stinging sensation on his lip. Blood. More blows rained down, a brutal, unforgiving assault. Baran tried to defend himself, but it was futile against his father’s strength. When it was over, he lay crumpled on the floor, his body aching, his spirit shattered.

“Get out,” his father growled, his voice thick with contempt.

Baran crawled to his feet, his vision blurred. He picked up his suitcase and fled the office, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. As he made his way down the corridor, the power of his father’s words settled over him like a suffocating blanket.

He reached for his phone, his fingers trembling. He needed to call someone, anyone. But as he unlocked it, an icy dread washed over him. He rushed to check the availability of his funds on his phone. With a sinking feeling, he realized his attempts to access his bank accounts were futile as each card was met with the dreaded with zero balance. Panic set in. He was alone, penniless, and a marked man. The warm welcome he had expected was replaced by a cold dread. The city that had promised endless possibilities now felt like a hostile jungle.

Baran stood on the sidewalk, the cold seeping into his bones. He was lost in his own life. He had arrived in New York as a man full of hope and excitement, only to be replaced by one haunted by fear and rejection.

As the reality of his situation settled in, Baran’s mind raced. He had nothing but the cash in his pocket and the clothes in his suitcase. His father’s disapproval bore down on him, leaving him feeling like an abandoned child.

With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, Baran’s feet carried him to the nearest subway station. The platform was crowded, the air thick with the mingled scents of the city. He boarded the train, finding an empty seat in a corner. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks became a constant backdrop to his swirling thoughts.

Passengers came and went, their faces blurring into a faceless mass. Baran stared out the window at the black blur. The noise from the loud conversations was unnerving. In Turkey, no one spoke on public transportation and if you did, someone would surely put you in your place. New Yorkers didn’t know how to whisper. Each stop felt like a momentary escape, only to be followed by the relentless motion of the train.

As the hours ticked by, Baran’s emotions shifted to a deep sadness, then to a hollow numbness. He drifted through the night without purpose or direction. The subway car, with its cold, hard seats, and harsh fluorescent lights, was a stark contrast to the life he had known in Istanbul.

He thought about his father’s face, stern and unyielding. The disappointment in his eyes was a wound that cut deeper than he could have ever imagined. His father’s expectations were impossible to follow. The ache of that realization gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his newfound isolation. There was no point in calling anyone in Turkey. He wondered if his mother had known the real purpose of his so-called winter vacation with his father. When his father left them in Turkey with a promise to move them to the United States, they had waited for years. Baran begged him to allow him to study here, but he didn’t want them to come. His mother couldn’t force Baran to go to the mosque. She had no clue why he had refused after his father left. Baran didn’t consider it a safe place for a gay man.

As he pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the chill of the night seep into his bones, he watched the other passengers, each absorbed in their own world. For a moment, he envied them their destinations. He longed for a sense of belonging, a place to call his own. He was riding to nowhere.

As dawn approached, Baran realized he couldn’t ride the subway forever. He had to find a way to rebuild, to start anew. His stomach growled from not eating. He exited the subway and wandered the unfamiliar streets of New York City, feeling the pressure of his predicament grow heavier with each step. The city, vibrant and full of life, felt like a maze he couldn’t escape. He had little money and no one to turn to. The cash in his pocket would dwindle fast, and he was running out of options.