Who Are You?

2 months earlier....

Rm 311....

Yaren's lips curved in a satisfied smile on seeing the door sign. She'd finally found the lecture hall after searching for it for nothing less than 20 minutes. It was a new session and venues for classes had been reshuffled, causing the campus to be filled with students going from one location to another trying to find the right halls.

For a transfer student like Yaren, it was even more difficult to find her way around. She only had the student orientation guide book, and the campus map she'd been given to navigate her way in St. Aldwyn University which seemed to be a maze at this point. Asking people for directions had yielded little to no results because everyone was either too busy to respond, or just uninterested.

Having won a scholarship last year, Yaren had been transferred from a small college in Rize, Turkey to study Literature in St. Aldwyn; A private university in Lugano, Switzerland. Ivy league. It was her second week here and she'd been late to all the classes because she just couldn't get the hang of the map, plus, her map reading skills were as poor as her eyesight.

But all that didn't matter now that she finally found the venue. It was 2:21pm already but the door to the lecture hall was still closed, she assumed everyone else was still trying to find the location, or perhaps there'd been a change or venues or something because it was unusual to find doors closed during classes.

Blowing out a breath, Yaren stepped forward and gently pushed the large door open. She stuck her head in and her gaze scanned around quickly, taking in the occupied seats and the professor standing on the podium beside the smart board. It turned out there hadn't been a change of venue and everyone else was here; she'd just been late again.

Her breath hitched and she stepped back quickly just as the professor began turning to face her, the door closed as she retreated completely to the other end of the quiet hallway.

Her heart hammered heavily against her chest on reflecting on how foolish she had been. It was bad enough that she had been late, and then she had gone ahead to open the door without knocking. What was wrong with her?

She took a moment to collect herself; she fixed her glasses, ensured her shoeslaces were tied, and smoothened out the nonexistent creases on her clothes before deciding to try again. She'd do it right this time, she'd knock and apologize to the professor for being late. She'd give him the practiced line she'd been giving the others: 'I'm new here, ma'am/sir. I'm still finding it difficult to find my way around.'

Yaren believed she had a charm; she believed there was something about her that coaxed people to be good to her. She'd known that since she was a kid, there'd been many events that led her to believing it; from not being punished for not being her homework along, to the school bus always waiting for her, and even securing a fully funded scholarship. She was a lucky person, she'd always told herself that, and the tiny star-shaped birthmark on the side of her neck solidified it.

Who else was born with a star on their neck, right?

She made her way back to the door determinedly, and just as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened and her gaze was met with sharp grey eyes. Just like that, her confidence dwindled as she stood there staring at the professor who had been standing on the podium earlier. He was tall, lean but he seemed well-built, he towered over her small frame effortlessly, but she was more intimated by his glare; it was icy and sharp, and it seemed to pin her to the exact spot she stood.

"Who are you?" He asked her, his voice was low and deep, there was a baritone to it that made her hang on to every word he said. He seemed irritated, impatient.

"Y...Yaren." She stuttered quietly as she tried to respond. "Yaren Kaya."

He arched a brow slightly. It was a small act but what he meant by it was clear; her name didn't ring a bell and she was inconsequential at the moment. She needed to say more.

"I'm a transfer student from Turkey." She explained timidly.

"Any particular reason for disrupting my lesson?" He asked her.

Her gaze dropped to her shoes immediately as she was suddenly unable to hold his sharp gaze. She was unused to this; she wasn't used to people chastising her like this. Where was her charm? Why wasn't it helping now.

"I.... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She tried explaining further, "I'm still trying to find my way around."

"Look at me when I speak to you, Ms. Kaya." He said to her surprise. His words had her gaze snapping up to meet his immediately. The cold look in his eyes was even more intimating now. "Class starts by 2pm as you know."

She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat before nodding.

"Now, being new does not excuse being late or disrupting my class, but I will overlook this for today." He said. His words did nothing to relieve her because his glare remained intact. It had her breath faltering even more. "Do you know what class this is?"

She nodded quickly.

"I do. Cross-Cultural Literacy Studies." She answered like the overachieving student she was. She'd gone through the guidebook religiously and she'd familiarized herself with all the courses she'd be taking; their codes and titles, and she'd even read a bit on Cross-Cultural Literacy last night in preparation for today's class.

The professor nodded curtly, he clearly wasn't as impressed as she'd expect him to be. And just like that he was gone, he had turned around and returned into the hall, but he left the door open hinting that she could go in.

Still holding her breath, she made her way into the hall and closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. All the seats in the front row were occupied so she made her way to the back, all the while keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact though there were some snickers here and there.

The professor had gone back to his lecture and his deep voice traveled effortlessly around the hall as he spoke about storytelling like the learned man he appeared to be.

"Storytelling is one of humanity’s oldest bridges. Across time and geography, it connects us even when our worlds seem vastly different." He was saying. "Today, we focus on voices from the margins: those who have lived at the crossroads of culture, identity, and displacement." .

He hadn't even said much yet she was already intrigued by his lecture. It was probably the way he spoke; with such confidence and command of every word. It was the kind of confidence that came with having taught this to a different audience again and again.

"Consider Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet. Though centuries old, his words transcend borders, inviting readers into a space where love, longing, and spiritual yearning unite diverse peoples." The professor continued just as she found a seat and settled down. She dug into her bagpack quickly to retrieve her book and pen.

"Now, compare that to Virginia Woolf, whose stream-of-consciousness style gave voice to the inner lives of women constrained by society." He said. "Both Rumi and Woolf challenge their cultural confines; Rumi through mysticism, and Woolf through modernism, yet both speak to the universal human quest for identity and belonging."

Yaren found herself nodding in agreeance as she scribbled down notes in her book. For someone who was a long way from home and all its cultures, this resonated with her in a way. She was on a quest to find identity and belonging.

"In our studies, we explore how storytelling from different traditions can illuminate shared truths and reveal hidden tensions." He explained. "We consider how these stories can reshape our understanding of culture, history, and even ourselves."

And she just couldn't wait to begin, she couldn't wait to delve into whatever was in store. She had a feeling

that Cross-Cultural Literacy Studies would be her favourite class.