This article was automatically translated from the original Turkish version.
It was the summer break of 2024. My sister Şeyda, my sister Ayşe, and I were thinking about how to make the most of our time. Deep down, we all wanted to immerse ourselves in life, but my father had a completely different plan for us. He was a protective man who did not want us to tire ourselves out out in the world and only wanted us to focus on our studies. Because of his sensitivity, working outside seemed like a distant possibility—until my phone rang. My cousin Embiya was calling; an urgent vacancy had opened up at Belinay Wedding Hall.
The salon’s head, Hacer, had lost two employees that very day. My journey with Şeyda soon brought Ayşe on board a few months later. As time passed and my other sister joined the team, Belinay ceased to be just a workplace—it transformed into a “family salon” where my sisters and cousin and I worked shoulder to shoulder. Hacer became more than a supervisor; she became my closest friend and sister.
The bond I formed with Hacer grew so strong that at one point Belinay felt less like a workplace and more like my own home. With the comfort this sincerity brought, I wholeheartedly embraced every corner of the salon. At times, this sense of ownership went so far that I unconsciously intervened in every detail with my dominant personality, taking on responsibility and rushing to ensure everything ran smoothly. This trust also granted me great freedom: when I had an errand, I could leave with ease, and when problems arose, I could solve them as if I were at home. Every chair bore the mark of my effort; every corner held a memory of mine.
At the helm of this large operation was our Selçuk Reis. To an outsider, his stern demeanor might have suggested he was a grumpy person. But we knew that beneath that tough shell hid a gentle soul, as sweet as a dessert. To us, he was more than a boss—he was like a father. Working under his protective shadow made us feel safe always.
Taha, Beste, Sıla, Rabia, Berat, and our sister Behice... We were a vast, loving family—from our photographers to our musicians. We tired ourselves out during the day, got annoyed with each other, and said “Ugh, I’m bored,” but on the one day we didn’t come, we missed each other deeply. After wedding parties that lasted until midnight, we would drag ourselves to the soup vendor, wander the streets at one in the morning... We didn’t just work inside that salon—we shared life together.
Colleagues at Belinay (Photo: Eda Tekin)
Every beautiful bond has a test, they say. One day, whispers and outside voices gained the upper hand. In a moment of anger, overwhelmed by my own dominant nature, I slammed the door and shouted, “Open the door, I’m leaving!” But the emptiness outside weighed far heavier than the crowd inside. Days of sorrow reminded us once again of where we truly belonged. We couldn’t hold out any longer—we set aside our pride and returned to the table.
When I returned after that fight, I realized that no matter how loud the voices outside grew, what we saw in each other’s eyes was greater than anything else. We argued the most with each other, yet in our hardest moments, we were the first to run to each other’s side.
The greatest lesson I took from that summer is this: when life brings you together with people you never expected, at a time you never anticipated, there is a reason. Do not believe the rumors outside—believe in the broth you shared late into the night and the soup you poured together. Because we didn’t just learn to work in a place—we learned to be a family in the heart.