It was printed.
Not emailed.Not whispered.
Left on the counter of the bookstore between a half-eaten bagel and Emir's elbow.
Thirty-four pages.
Stapled.Indexed.Proper fonts.
Titled:
"Phase 1 Resource Allocation – Memory Sustainability Initiative"
He flipped to the first line:
"Proposed Budget: 72,000₺Funding Source: AnonymousAllocation Period: Rolling 6 Months"
He frowned.
He hadn't asked for this.
Hadn't approved this.
Hadn't even known this was a thing.
—
He read further:
Section A: Mutual aid resource kits for regional memory circles
Section B: Refillable supply lockers for "silent classrooms"
Section C: Small stipend for facilitators—not teachers, not leaders, just witnesses
Section D: Emergency funds labeled "emotional infrastructure"
Page 17 had a graph.
Page 24 had a projected loss curve.Page 28 had a quote from Emir... misquoted, but not maliciously.
It ended with one sentence:
"He doesn't have to know.He just has to keep walking."
—
"Well," Atatürk said, materializing like a breath caught in the windowpane,"I see you've graduated from dangerous thinker to beloved mascot."
— "I didn't authorize this," Emir muttered.
"And yet it's the most organized thing to ever carry your name."
— "That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be.They've started building without you, Kara.Now your silence is going to need an accountant."
—
He called Narin.
— "Was this you?"
She laughed so hard she choked on her tea.
— "You think I know how to format a budget spreadsheet?"
— "Then who—?"
— "Emir," she interrupted, "you're not a shepherd anymore.You're a season."
—
That night, he made tea.Sat with the document again.This time… more slowly.
It was good.
It was damn good.
He folded it neatly.
Slid it into a drawer.
Then opened his notebook and wrote:
"The day your movement gets better without youis the day you either panic…or bow."
"Today, I bowed."
"And also—I really hope whoever did this knows how to file taxes."
—