Chapter 25

ELIAS

The job offer came faster than I had expected—faster than I had dared to hope. Three days after submitting my CV to a handful of language schools around Berlin, I got an email from one of the more reputable ones. They wanted to see me the next morning. By that afternoon, the director had practically shoved a contract into my hands.

“Native speaker, teaching experience, and you already live nearby?” she’d said. “Perfect. You can start Monday.”

And that was that.

The job itself was straightforward enough—adult learners, mostly business professionals looking to polish their English, plus a few university students prepping for exams. The pay wasn’t glamorous, but it was stable and legal and came with health insurance. After the frantic uncertainty of the last months, that alone felt miraculous.

But the best surprise came in the form of my new colleague, Markus Adler.

Markus was impossible to miss—broad shouldered, always slightly overdressed for the job, and carrying himself with the exaggerated dignity of someone trying (and failing) not to be funny. When I first arrived in the break room, he stood, shook my hand like we were signing a treaty, and said, “Welcome to the circus.”

That became our dynamic immediately.

He gave me a tour of the school, pointing out the classrooms, the printer that only worked if you bribed it with flattery, the cabinet full of assorted mugs. Then he took me aside and talked me through the real necessities: which pub the staff preferred on Fridays, which students pretended not to understand English just to flirt, and which classrooms had windows that jammed in summer.

Only after all that did he ask how I ended up in Germany.

I gave him the abbreviated version—without the more dangerous details—but even the skeleton of the story was intense enough: meeting Leila in Shiraz, falling in love, her impossible family situation, fleeing to Istanbul, marriage, and finally her German spousal visa.

Markus listened without interrupting, eyebrows rising a little higher every time I added another hurdle.

When I finished, he let out a low whistle. “You two didn’t choose the easy route.”

“No. But we made it work.”

“And Leila?” he asked. “She’s settling in all right?”

“She is. Better than I expected, actually. Her German is improving so fast it’s embarrassing.”

Markus chuckled. “That’s impressive. Many people live here for years and can’t order a coffee without a panic attack.”

I smiled. “Well, she had the motivation. It was the only way she could get her visa approved.”

At that, something sharpened in Markus’ expression—in a good way. A spark of interest, maybe recognition.

“You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I have a particular fondness for stories like that.”

“Oh?”

“Immigration,” he announced, with theatrical gravitas. “Visas, permits, work authorizations, citizenship applications—it’s all fascinating to me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” He folded his hands. “I’ve helped half the staff here navigate some kind of paperwork crisis. And my girlfriend jokes that if teaching English doesn’t work out, I should apply for a job at the Ausländerbehörde. Though I’m not sure whether she means it as a compliment.”

It was hard not to laugh. “Why immigration?”

He shrugged. “Because it’s the intersection of rules, people, and real stakes. Also because I’ve had to deal with a lot of it myself. My mother’s from Austria, my father’s German but lived in the U.K. for twenty years—let’s just say my paperwork has paperwork.”

“That explains it.”

“And Leila,” he said, “she’s all set now? Visa, residence permit, everything?”

“Yes. But only barely. The timing almost killed us. Her Turkish visa was about to expire.”

Markus nodded sympathetically. “That’s how it always goes. Bureaucracy never moves until the deadline is breathing down your neck.” Then he added, “If you ever need help again—extensions, work permits, anything with the job center or foreigner’s office—call me. This stuff is ridiculous, but it’s less ridiculous when you know how it works.”

“Thanks,” I said genuinely. “I appreciate it.”

He grinned. “Good. Now come on, rookie. I’ll show you how to fix the temperamental coffee machine. This is the real test of your teaching career.”

And somehow, in that moment—with Markus demonstrating how to cajole an aging espresso machine into cooperation—I felt that things were beginning to fall into place. Not perfectly, not easily, but enough.