Chapter 29

LEILA

By the time Berlin finally thawed, I felt like I’d thawed with it.

Winter had dragged on longer than I expected—gray skies, sharp winds, and that particular brand of cold that sneaks into your bones—but now the trees along our street were dusted with pale green buds, and people were suddenly outside again, walking their dogs, drinking coffee on terraces, pretending the temperature was warmer than it really was.

I found myself smiling more on my morning walk to the train station. Maybe because the light was returning. Maybe because I’d passed my Turkish certification two weeks earlier. Maybe because I felt like I was growing into the life I’d chosen.

Dr. Keller greeted me with her usual brisk nod when I entered her office.

“Guten Morgen, Leila. Sit,” she said, motioning toward the chair, glasses perched halfway down her nose as always.

I sat, clasping my hands in my lap, still a little nervous around her—even though she’d never given me a reason to be.

She shuffled a stack of papers and held up one from the middle. “Your exam results were excellent. Truly excellent.”

My heart swelled at her words. Compliments from Dr. Keller were rare and therefore precious.

“Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound too proud. “I ... studied a lot.”

“That is obvious,” she replied with a small smile. “And it means I can start giving you more challenging assignments.”

She slid a folder across the desk. I opened it, feeling a little rush of excitement—dense Turkish legal text on one side, German on the other, heavily annotated.

A year ago, something like this would have terrified me. Now it thrilled me.

“This is part of a larger project,” Dr. Keller continued. “Contracts, correspondence, a few academic excerpts. You’ll work with the senior translators, but I want you to take the first pass on these sections.”

“Really?” I looked up, unable to hide my surprise.

“Really.” She leaned back, evaluating me. “Your instincts are good, you’re meticulous, and you ask the right questions. That is more important than perfection.”

I felt warmth rush into my cheeks. “I ... I’m grateful. For the chance. And for your help.”

“You earned it,” she corrected lightly. “And besides—I’ve enjoyed watching you progress. You have ambition, Leila. And ambition paired with discipline is powerful.”

Ambition. The word echoed inside me long after she moved on to discussing timelines and expectations.

I had always wanted to be good at this. To handle languages the way some people handled music or math—with fluency, with confidence, with joy. And now, little by little, I was getting there. Two languages certified. Another in progress—French was next on my list. My dream—six or seven in total—no longer sounded like fantasy but like a plan. I hoped to add Spanish and Italian down the road.

When the meeting ended, I stepped out of her office with the folder tucked under my arm and a quiet thrill humming inside me.

Outside, the sunlight filtered through the newly formed leaves, painting soft shadows along the hallway walls. I paused near the window and looked down at the courtyard below—students chatting, a bicyclist rolling past, the sky a pale but honest blue.

It struck me then how far I’d come. Not just in work, or language, or skill ... but in life. In courage. In creating something new.

Later that afternoon, as I sat at my desk and began translating the first paragraph of the assignment, the words flowed more easily than I expected. Turkish no longer felt separate from me—it felt natural, familiar, like a room I knew how to navigate.

I felt something blooming quietly inside me. Confidence. Real confidence.

Spring had finally come—to Berlin and to me.

ELIAS

By April, Berlin had finally shrugged off most of its winter mood, and every time I stepped outside, the air smelled a little greener. My workdays were still chaotic, but they were becoming my chaos—familiar, oddly comforting.

Teaching English here wasn’t like teaching it back in the States, or even in Shiraz. My students came from everywhere and carried entire worlds with them. There were Ukrainian teenagers, Syrian fathers trying to reinvent themselves, engineers from India, Brazilian au pairs, Polish nurses, and retirees chasing a vague dream. Some days I felt like I was running a miniature United Nations meeting disguised as a language class.

One Wednesday afternoon, after a lesson where half the class debated whether the word “through” was invented as a joke, and the other half insisted English spelling existed solely to torment humanity, I slumped into a chair in the break room with a dramatic sigh.