Constantinople, Ottoman Empire — Winter 1904 The following morning, Ayaan changed his routine.
It was a small change.
So small that nobody noticed.
Instead of opening his shop at the usual hour, he arrived nearly half an hour later.
Instead of taking his usual route through the market, he walked along a different street.
Instead of stopping at the same tea shop where he occasionally listened to merchants talk, he continued past it.
He did not do this because he believed someone was following him.
He did it because he wanted to know whether someone was.
There was a difference.
Fear made people imagine enemies everywhere.
Caution made them test their assumptions.
Ayaan preferred caution.
He walked slowly through the cold streets of Constantinople, occasionally glancing at shop windows.
Not behind him.
At the reflections.
A man carrying a sack passed him.
A woman hurried toward a bakery.
Two boys ran through the street laughing.
A carriage moved past.
Nothing unusual.
Ayaan continued.
At the next intersection, he stopped beside a merchant’s stall and pretended to examine a collection of imported pens.
The merchant immediately began talking.
“Good quality.” Ayaan picked one up.
“How much?” The merchant named the price.
Ayaan inspected it.
Too expensive.
“Imported?” “Yes.” “From where?” “Germany.” Ayaan looked at the pen again.
The workmanship was decent.
But the price was excessive.
“You are charging too much.” The merchant laughed.
“Then don’t buy it.” Ayaan put it down.
“I won’t.” The merchant laughed again.
Ayaan smiled politely and moved on.
He glanced at the reflection in the stall’s glass.
Nobody had stopped.
Good.
Perhaps there was no one following him.
Or perhaps whoever was watching him was better than he expected.
Either possibility was useful information.
When he reached his shop, he unlocked the door.
His father was already there.
Mehmet looked up.
“You are late.” “By a little.” “Why?” “I took another route.” His father studied him.
“Why?” Ayaan hesitated.
“I wanted to see whether anyone was following me.” Mehmet’s expression hardened.
“And?” “I don’t know.” His father stood.
“Then don’t do that alone again.” Ayaan nodded.
“I won’t.” Mehmet walked toward the door and looked outside.
“Where did you go?” Ayaan told him.
His father listened.
Then he shook his head.
“You’re thinking too much.” “Perhaps.” “You see danger everywhere.” “No.” Ayaan looked at him.
“I’m trying to determine whether there is danger.” Mehmet sighed.
“That is the same thing with more complicated words.” Ayaan laughed.
“Maybe.” His father returned to the counter.
“Did you eat?” “Not yet.” “Then eat.” Ayaan obeyed.
For several minutes, they worked in silence.
The ordinary rhythm of the shop gradually returned.
Customers came.
Some bought notebooks.
Others purchased writing paper.
One merchant ordered several ledgers.
A schoolteacher bought ink and pens.
It was a normal morning.
And that was exactly what Ayaan wanted.
Normal.
The less attention he attracted, the longer he had to build.
Around midday, Zeynep arrived.
She carried several books.
Ayaan looked at them.
“What are those?” “Accounting.” He smiled.
“More accounting?” “You said I should study.” “I did.” “So I am.” She placed the books on the counter.
Then she noticed the look on his face.
“What happened?” “Nothing.” “You’re lying.” Ayaan raised an eyebrow.
“That quickly?” “Yes.” “How?” “You don’t look at people when you say nothing happened.” Ayaan glanced at her.
She smiled.
“See?” He laughed quietly.
“Someone may be watching.” Her smile faded.
“Still?” “I don’t know.” “You said you would find out.” “I am trying.” “Did something happen this morning?” Ayaan told her about the changed route.
Zeynep listened.
Then she frowned.
“You shouldn’t have done that alone.” “My father said the same thing.” “Because he’s right.” “Apparently everyone is against me today.” She smiled.
“Good.” “Good?” “Maybe you’ll listen.” Ayaan shook his head.
“You’ve been spending too much time with my father.” “Perhaps.” She opened one of her books.
“I brought something else.” “What?” She handed him a small notebook.
Ayaan opened it.
It contained notes.
Not numbers.
Names.
Merchants.
Suppliers.
Customers.
Businesses.
Zeynep had begun creating a simple commercial network map.
Ayaan looked at her.
“You made this?” “Yes.” “When?” “Over the past week.” He read through the pages.
She had organized people according to relationships.
Who sold to whom.
Who imported goods.
Who worked with which merchants.
Who seemed connected.
It was crude.
But useful.
Ayaan smiled.
“This is good.” She looked pleased.
“Really?” “Yes.” “I wasn’t sure.” “You should continue.” “What should I add?” “Political connections.” Her expression became serious.
“You think they matter?” “I think everything matters.” She nodded.
Ayaan pointed to one name.
“This merchant.” “Yes?” “Who does he buy from?” She checked her notes.
“Three suppliers.” “And the suppliers?” “Two are local.” “The other?” “Imported goods.” “From?” “France.” Ayaan nodded.
“Good.” Zeynep looked at him.
“You are building something.” “Maybe.” “What?” “A map.” “Of Constantinople?” “Of influence.” She stared at him.
“That’s much bigger.” “It needs to be.” She closed the notebook.
“Are you going to become a politician?” “No.” “Are you sure?” Ayaan thought about it.
“I don’t want office.” “Then why study politics?” “Because people in power affect everyone.” Zeynep nodded.
“That’s true.” “I don’t need to be a politician to understand politics.” “Then what do you want?” Ayaan looked toward the window.
“Influence.” Zeynep remained silent.
Ayaan continued.
“Not fame.” “Why not?” “Fame attracts attention.” “And influence?” “Can remain hidden.” She smiled.
“That sounds like you.” Ayaan smiled back.
The afternoon brought an unexpected visitor.
He was an older man.
Perhaps in his late forties.
He entered alone.
Ayaan recognized him immediately.
Not from personal experience.
From the description Hasan had given him.
Older.
Well dressed.
Quiet.
The man looked around the shop.
Then at Mehmet.
Then at Ayaan.
His eyes remained on Ayaan for just a moment longer than necessary.
Ayaan noticed.
The man approached.
“I am looking for writing paper.” Mehmet nodded.
“What kind?” The man named a particular quality.
Ayaan reached for it.
He placed the paper on the counter.
The man examined it.
“Good.” “How many?” “Ten packets.” Ayaan calculated the price.
The man paid.
No negotiation.
That was unusual.
Most customers negotiated at least a little.
The man collected his purchase.
Then paused.
“You are Ayaan Hassan.” Ayaan looked at him.
“Yes.” The man smiled.
“I have heard about you.” Ayaan remained expressionless.
“I hope only good things.” The man chuckled.
“Mostly.” “Mostly?” “You are young.” “So I am told.” “And ambitious.” Ayaan said nothing.
The man glanced toward Mehmet.
“Your father must be proud.” “He is.” The man nodded.
Then he left.
Ayaan watched him disappear.
Zeynep leaned toward him.
“That was him.” Ayaan nodded.
“Yes.” “Should we follow him?” “No.” “Why?” “Because if he knows we noticed him, we lose information.” Zeynep frowned.
“What information?” “Whether he is actually interested in me.” She looked confused.
“He just asked your name.” “That doesn’t prove anything.” “Then what would?” “If he returns.” The man did not return that day.
Nor the next.
Nor the day after.
Ayaan continued working.
He refused to let suspicion consume his life.
That was another lesson he had learned from his previous existence.
Paranoia was not intelligence.
It was simply fear wearing a clever mask.
If he became obsessed with every stranger, he would eventually make mistakes.
So he continued his routine.
He studied.
He worked.
He invested.
He spent time with his family.
He trained his mind.
And he watched.
A week later, he received another letter.
This one was not from Ibrahim.
It was from Hasan Efendi.
The printing business had received a new order.
A large one.
The customer wanted several thousand printed documents.
Ayaan read the details.
He frowned.
“What is it?” Zeynep asked.
“A contract.” “Good?” “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “The customer wants payment after delivery.” She looked at him.
“That’s risky.” “Exactly.” “Will you refuse?” “Not necessarily.” “Why?” Ayaan pointed at the figures.
“The order is large enough to make the risk worthwhile.” “How do you calculate that?” “Probability.” Zeynep frowned.
“Explain.” “If the customer pays, we make a strong profit.” “And if he doesn’t?” “We lose money.” “Then why accept?” “Because risk is not the same as stupidity.” She waited.
Ayaan continued.
“We can reduce the risk.” “How?” “Partial payment before production.” “And if they refuse?” “We reduce the order.” “And if they refuse that?” “We walk away.” Zeynep nodded.
“That makes sense.” Ayaan smiled.
“Business is rarely about avoiding all risk.” “What is it about?” “Taking risks you understand.” She looked at him.
“You’re always teaching.” “You’re always asking.” “Fair.” The next day, Hasan came to see Ayaan.
“We have a problem.” Ayaan looked up.
“What happened?” “The customer refuses the deposit.” “Then no production.” Hasan hesitated.
“They say another printer has agreed.” “Then let them use the other printer.” “You aren’t worried about losing the order?” “No.” “Why?” “Because if they cannot accept reasonable terms, the order is not as valuable as it looks.” Hasan nodded slowly.
“I thought you might say that.” Ayaan smiled.
“Good.” Hasan remained.
“There is something else.” “What?” “The man who asked about you came again.” Ayaan became still.
“Today?” “Yesterday.” “What did he ask?” “About your investments.” Ayaan’s eyes narrowed.
“What exactly?” “He asked whether you had plans to expand.” “What did you tell him?” “The truth.” “Which was?” “That you are still small.” Ayaan nodded.
“Good.” Hasan looked at him.
“Do you know who he is?” “No.” “Should we be concerned?” Ayaan thought.
“Not yet.” Hasan hesitated.
“Why?” “Because if he wanted to harm us, he wouldn’t need to ask so many questions.” Hasan stared at him.
“That isn’t entirely comforting.” “It wasn’t supposed to be.” The older merchant laughed despite himself.
Ayaan continued.
“But I want you to do something.” “What?” “If he comes again, tell him I am not involved in the financial decisions.” Hasan blinked.
“But you are.” “I know.” “Why lie?” “Because I want to know what he does with the information.” Hasan understood.
“Very well.” “And don’t mention this conversation to anyone.” “Of course.” That evening, Ayaan visited Zeynep’s family home.
Her father greeted him.
They discussed ordinary matters first.
Imports.
Prices.
Suppliers.
Shipping.
Then Zeynep’s father asked: “How is your business?” “Stable.” “Growing?” “Slowly.” “Good.” The older man smiled.
“Slow growth is safer than fast growth.” Ayaan nodded.
“I agree.” “Your father taught you well.” “He did.” They sat with tea.
After several minutes, Zeynep’s father spoke again.
“Have you heard the rumors?” “Which ones?” “Political.” Ayaan waited.
“There are men who believe the Empire must change.” Ayaan remained quiet.
“Change how?” “That depends on whom you ask.” “Do you believe it?” The older man looked toward the window.
“I believe an empire cannot survive without adapting.” Ayaan studied him.
That was an interesting answer.
“Does adaptation mean abandoning tradition?” “No.” “Then what?” “Strengthening it.” Ayaan’s interest sharpened.
The older man continued.
“A house can be old and still be strong.” “But?” “If its foundation is damaged, painting the walls will not save it.” Ayaan smiled.
“That is a good comparison.” “It is an old merchant’s comparison.” “I like it.” Zeynep’s father looked at him.
“You think the same way.” Ayaan did not answer immediately.
Finally he said: “I think the Empire has strengths.” “And weaknesses.” “Yes.” “What would you strengthen first?” Ayaan considered.
“Education.” The older man nodded.
“Why?” “Because every other reform depends on people.” “Good.” “Then industry.” “Why?” “Because an Empire that cannot produce enough of what it needs will always depend on others.” The older man nodded again.
“And after that?” “Finance.” His expression became interested.
“Why?” “Because without capital, ideas remain ideas.” Silence followed.
Zeynep’s father studied him carefully.
“You think far ahead.” Ayaan smiled.
“I try.” “Be careful.” The words were quiet.
Ayaan looked at him.
“Why?” “Because men who think far ahead sometimes forget that others are thinking too.” Ayaan remembered his father’s warning.
Never assume the person sitting across from you is stupid.
He nodded.
“I’ll remember.” When Ayaan left the house, Zeynep walked with him to the gate.
“What did you think?” “About what?” “My father.” “He likes you.” She smiled.
“That’s not what I asked.” Ayaan laughed.
“He’s intelligent.” “Yes.” “He understands the Empire has problems.” “He does.” “But he doesn’t want destruction.” “No.” “He wants reform.” Zeynep looked at him.
“Is that what you want?” Ayaan thought.
“No.” “No?” “I want strength.” She waited.
“If reform makes the Empire stronger, I support reform.” “And if it doesn’t?” “Then it is useless.” Zeynep smiled.
“You really are a merchant.” “Maybe.” She looked toward the dark streets.
“Do you think something will happen?” Ayaan knew what she meant.
“The revolution?” She nodded.
“I don’t know.” “You said 1908.” “I remember what happened.” “But?” “The future isn’t fixed anymore.” She looked at him.
“Because of you?” “Because of everyone.” Ayaan turned toward the city.
“History isn’t a train running on one track.” “Then what is it?” “A road.” “With many directions?” “Exactly.” Zeynep was silent.
“Then why do you still remember the future?” “Because I know where some roads used to lead.” “And now?” “Now I have to decide which roads are worth taking.” She smiled.
“That sounds difficult.” “It is.” Two days later, something finally happened.
Ayaan was working in his shop when a young boy entered.
He looked nervous.
“Are you Ayaan?” “Yes.” The boy handed him a folded piece of paper.
“For you.” “From whom?” “I don’t know.” Ayaan looked at the boy.
“Who gave it to you?” “A man.” “What man?” The boy shook his head.
“I don’t know his name.” “What did he look like?” “Old.” “How old?” “I don’t know.” “Did he say anything?” The boy hesitated.
“He said you should read it.” Ayaan gave him a coin.
The boy smiled and left.
Ayaan unfolded the paper.
There were only three lines.
You are asking questions that have no business being asked by a boy.
Below that: Be careful which doors you open.
And finally: Some doors open both ways.
Ayaan read it twice.
Zeynep, who was standing nearby, watched him.
“What does it say?” He handed it to her.
She read it.
Her face became serious.
“That’s a threat.” “Maybe.” “Maybe?” Ayaan took the paper back.
“It could also be a warning.” “From whom?” “I don’t know.” “Does that matter?” “Very much.” She looked at him.
“What are you going to do?” Ayaan folded the paper.
“Nothing.” She stared at him.
“Nothing?” “Not immediately.” “Why?” “Because whoever sent this wants a reaction.” “And you’re not going to give them one.” “Exactly.” He walked toward the stove.
The paper burned quickly.
Zeynep watched the flame consume it.
Ayaan waited until there was nothing left.
Then he said quietly: “Now we wait.” “For what?” “Another message.” “You’re sure there will be one?” “No.” Ayaan looked at the ashes.
“But if there isn’t, then the warning may have done its job.” Zeynep understood.
The purpose might not have been to gather information.
It might have been to discourage him.
To make him afraid.
To make him stop asking questions.
Ayaan smiled faintly.
That would not work.
But he also would not be foolish.
The message had confirmed something important.
Someone knew what he was doing.
Someone knew he was studying political connections.
Someone believed he was opening doors he should not yet open.
That meant his activities had reached farther than he had realized.
Ayaan looked toward the street.
The winter evening had settled over Constantinople.
The city was still.
But beneath that stillness, thousands of people were working, trading, arguing, planning, dreaming.
Some wanted wealth.
Some wanted power.
Some wanted reform.
Some wanted revolution.
Some wanted nothing more than peace.
And somewhere among them were people who were beginning to notice a fourteen-year-old merchant.
Ayaan had spent years trying to build quietly.
Now he had learned something uncomfortable.
Quiet did not mean invisible.
He had believed that wealth could buy influence.
He had understood that information could create power.
But he was beginning to discover another truth.
Influence attracted attention.
And attention attracted questions.
He returned to his notebook that night.
For several minutes, he stared at the blank page.
Then he wrote: December 1904.
He paused.
Under it: Someone knows I am studying politics.
Another line: They want me to stop.
He thought for a long moment.
Then wrote: I will not stop.
He closed the notebook.
But after a moment, he opened it again.
He added one final sentence.
I will simply become harder to notice.
Ayaan closed the book.
Outside his window, Constantinople slept beneath the winter sky.
The Ottoman Empire remained standing.
The Sultan remained on the throne.
The government continued.
The markets opened every morning.
Ships continued crossing the Bosphorus.
People continued living their ordinary lives.
Nothing had changed.
Not visibly.
But Ayaan knew better now.
Change did not always arrive with armies.
Sometimes it arrived as a whispered conversation.
A question asked in a merchant’s office.
A stranger standing across a street.
A letter with three sentences.
A warning delivered by a child.
Ayaan had opened another door.
And now someone on the other side had knocked.
The only question was whether they wanted to enter— or wanted him to come out.