Uncle Funded My Education Journey

Aylin Scott finally managed to escape from the cold, emotionless house. As she walked from her aunt's home to the prestigious Dublin High School, everything seemed more vibrant than usual. The sky felt exceptionally blue, the grass greener, and even the scorching September sun seemed gentle. It was all like a dream, delightful yet surreal. Her dreams, which had been buried under her grandmother's harsh words and the cruelty of reality, were suddenly revived, and Aylin could hardly believe it was all real.

A young female teacher stepped into the classroom. She appeared to be around twenty-three or twenty-four years old, fair-skinned and attractive, with bangs framing her face and long hair cascading down to her waist. Her eyes were bright and expressive, and beneath her delicate nose was a gentle smile that seemed to hold an unspoken charm. Unable to resist, Aylin smiled at her. In a classroom filled with youthful faces, her smile was hardly noticeable, and nobody seemed to register her quiet joy. It had been a long time since she had smiled like that.

The teacher wrote "Marta King" on the blackboard and then turned to face the students with a bright smile, both excited and slightly nervous. "From today onward, I'll be your homeroom teacher. You can call me Ms. King or, if you like, just Marta. I just graduated from college, and I'm excited to start this new chapter with all of you. I hope we can work well together and tackle the challenges ahead as a team," she said warmly, her movements lively like those of a big kid. Aylin found herself captivated not just by Ms. King's appearance but by the vibrant energy she exuded.

"Now, let's take attendance and get to know each other." Ms. King stepped down from the podium with the attendance sheet in hand. "Jack Harper—"

"Present!" a voice responded.

"Abigail Wilson?"

"Here!"

...

"Aylin Scott?"

The classroom was silent. Ms. King scanned the room and repeated, "Aylin Scott? Is there no Aylin Scott in this class?"

The uncomfortable silence was overwhelming. Aylin felt as if she were sitting on pins and needles. Gathering her courage, she stood and stammered, "Sorry, that's me! My name is Aylin Scott!" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she had drawn the attention of the entire class. Her heart raced, and she couldn't remember what she had just said.

"Oh, really? I'm sorry, there was a mistake on the attendance sheet," Ms. King apologized with a smile and took a moment to observe the girl standing before her. She noticed Aylin's strikingly beautiful appearance—her long, dark hair framed her face, tied back simply, and her serene yet melancholic eyes. Despite her natural beauty, Aylin carried an air of aloofness and detachment. She wore a simple beige linen blouse, understated yet elegant. Ms. King touched her shoulder gently and said, "Please take a seat, Aylin."

Aylin sat back down, her heart still pounding rapidly, while Ms. King moved on to call other names. Aylin realized that the emotional turmoil existed only in her mind; it hadn't disturbed anyone else. Yet her heart continued to race for the rest of the morning.

"Hey, Aylin, let's be pals!" A voice suddenly spoke up beside her, startling Aylin. She looked over to see a girl with a charming smile, short hair, and bright, lively eyes. Her grin revealed dimples and a mischievous glint in her eyes, much like a playful kitten. Aylin hadn't even noticed she had a seatmate.

"I'm Milena," the girl extended her hand towards Aylin.

Aylin hesitated for a moment but then shyly shook her hand. "Hi," she replied, feeling slightly awkward. But soon she smiled more naturally, realizing that this new environment was a fresh, promising start—a vibrant teacher, a cheerful new friend. Everything seemed so invigorating, and Aylin was determined to adapt to it all.

In the following class, Mr. Garcia, the teacher, was intense and full of energy, his lectures lively and packed with historical anecdotes. They made the lessons exciting and engaging. However, Aylin still preferred the warmth and approachability of someone like Ms. King.

Suddenly, Mr. Garcia approached Aylin's desk and tapped his fingers pointedly on it. "This student, can you share your thoughts on digital literature?"

Caught off guard, Aylin stood up, her mind having wandered a moment ago. Perhaps Mr. Garcia had noticed her distraction and called on her to refocus. But she was surprised to be singled out on the first day. Regardless, she knew she couldn't afford to falter now. Although her experience with the internet was limited, she decided to speak broadly. "Digital literature impacts traditional literary authority because the digital age is open, with literature involving the masses. In this respect, digital literature surpasses traditional literature," she began, aware she was speaking generally due to her limited understanding.

Mr. Garcia, an apparent traditionalist who favored classical texts, seemed unconvinced. She caught a hint of dissatisfaction on his face through his thick glasses.

"You truly believe digital literature surpasses traditional literature?" His underlying question seemed to challenge her preference for traditional literature.

Noticing his skepticism, Aylin elaborated, "I was merely comparing their reach. Digital literature has a low entry barrier, facing challenges in maintaining quality. Yet the accessibility it provides allows anyone to publish freely without editorial gatekeeping or needing a renowned pen name, which can lead to a mix of quality. Overall, while digital literature might be seen as fast food, traditional literature remains like a fine dining experience. As life accelerates, more people choose the fast food option. It's not hard to see why."

Mr. Garcia's expression softened, and Aylin's confidence began to return.

"What's your name?" Mr. Garcia asked.

"Aylin Scott."

He nodded, recognizing that despite her earlier distraction, her analysis wasn't entirely off base. "What books do you enjoy reading?"

"Books by Steinbeck, Austen, and Hemingway," Aylin listed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

"And digital novels?" Mr. Garcia prodded.

"Um..." Aylin faltered, realizing she had little familiarity with digital novels. It seemed this seasoned teacher was more current than she was.

Mr. Garcia smiled, "You might enjoy works like 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' or 'Eleanor & Park.' They could broaden your perspective."

Aylin lowered her head in quiet reflection.

Mr. Garcia gave her a reassuring pat. "Impressive, keep up the good work!"

This unexpected acknowledgment from Mr. Garcia should have been a point of pride, but for her dorm mates that evening, it was hardly noteworthy. Instead, they were far more enthralled by Mr. Garcia's rumored private life with his much younger wife, nearly forty years his junior.

"Hey, I heard that once men hit a certain age, they can't keep up. But women in their thirties or forties have insatiable energy, right? How do they manage?"

"You think Mr. Garcia is having an affair?"

"Enough! Can we not meddle in others' affairs? Let's sleep!"

"Oh, by the way, Aylin, you made quite the impression today!" Milena acknowledged her for the first time.

Aylin smiled in the dark, about to respond when Milena mischievously added, "Just steer clear of that old lecherous teacher, okay?" she giggled.

Feeling as if she had swallowed something bitter, Aylin decided not to respond, pretending to fall asleep instead. Fortunately, Milena turned over and stayed quiet.

As her dorm mates began to snore, Aylin lay restless, unable to sleep. Milena's teasing had transported her back to a time she loathed, where she stood at the center of the world, exposed to all kinds of unwanted attention. Friendly, sympathetic, malicious, mocking, casual, or bored—it all centered on her, and she resented it. She was not naturally paranoid or self-important, but she had always cared too much about others' opinions. She despised being the focal point, resented the attention from everyone, including mentors, classmates, family, and strangers. This heightened sensitivity was a long-term effect of her depressive phase, a condition she called "heart prison." It was the root of her issue—a problem that refused to heal completely and would flare up with the slightest provocation. Deep down, Aylin longed for a door that would lead her to happiness, but she knew this college acceptance letter was not that door.

Unable to sleep, she was up early, wandering through the city streets as they stirred under the cold moonlight.

Aylin saw her grandmother's body around eight or nine in the morning the next day. The body was not taken to the funeral home but instead kept at her uncle's house. To prevent decomposition, the heating was turned off, and ice packs were arranged around Kayleigh Gardner's bed so Raiden, Aylin, and Milan could see her one last time.

Her face was pale, cold, and devoid of color. Aylin collapsed onto the bed beside her grandmother. Just days ago, her grandmother had been smiling and giving her advice, and now she lay there like this. Aylin couldn't cry. It wasn't that she wasn't hurting; it was that the pain was overwhelming, beyond anything she could have imagined.

Despite rarely visiting from London in the past decade, Aylin had spent nearly twenty years in close proximity to her grandmother. Kayleigh's unreasonable nature, her domineering ways, and her sharp tongue had given Aylin an early taste of life's harshness, teaching her how to navigate human complexities from a young age. They had shared a house, harboring mutual resentment that they used to get through the days. That resentment had persisted for so long that even when they could have lived harmoniously, Aylin kept her distance. But now, life had led them to this final goodbye, leaving much regret behind.

The mixture of love and hatred was a peculiar cocktail, both icy and fiery.

Emma Gibson gently helped her up. "Aylin, you need to accept it. Your grandmother passed peacefully."

Aylin nodded and turned to her brother, Salem. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t anyone tell me when Grandma got sick? At least I could have spent some time with her."

Salem remained silent, looking down. Dustin, Aylin's husband, stepped in to separate the siblings. "Aylin, they didn't want to worry you," he said, leading her back to the living room where Milan was sitting, lost in her thoughts. "Aunt Milena, we only found out last night. By then, they were already boarding the train, so we couldn't join them."

Milan sat silently, tears streaming down her face. Since Kayleigh Gardner had taken her last breath, Milan hadn't eaten or spoken a word. Her bond with her mother was deeper than any typical mother-daughter relationship. Milan had been old enough to understand the struggles when her father passed away. She knew her mother's hardships and loneliness, and she remembered how her mother had begged for mercy to feed their family, working alongside men in the fields, forgetting she was a woman.

Emma Gibson, holding a toddler, glanced at Milan and signaled to Dustin to follow her into a bedroom, Salem joining them.

"Dad and Uncle Raiden will be here by noon. Once they've seen her, we should call the funeral home to arrange the cremation," Emma suggested.

"But Mom..." Salem hesitated as he looked outside.

"We can't let her grieve indefinitely. We can't leave the body at home without heating. We might endanger the living," Emma's firmness seemed to echo Milan's resilience.

Aylin wiped her nose and nodded. "We'll follow Emma's lead. And we'll hold the funeral at the family home in the countryside. I'll head to the village to find Uncle Tadeo and the council to arrange everything. We can’t just wait for Dad and Uncle Salem to get here." Salem exchanged a look with Dustin, feeling a bit awkward. "Dustin, we know you just got married..."

Dustin playfully punched him on the shoulder, "No need for formalities."

Aylin suddenly remembered she now had a husband. She shot him a grateful look, noticing his tired eyes and feeling a pang of sympathy. "Salem, Dustin has been up all night preparing for the wedding. I’m worried he’s worn out. Let’s rest at your place for a bit."

Emma quickly took a key out of her pocket and handed it to Aylin. "Absolutely! You both need some rest."

"I have to get back to the village. There's so much to do."

"I'll go with you," Dustin insisted.

Given his insistence, Aylin relented. "Alright, we'll go to the village first, talk to Uncle Tadeo and Aunt Martha, and arrange everything. When Dad gets here, Salem, you can take Grandma for cremation."

On the day of Kayleigh Gardner's funeral, many people gathered from the village. Aside from the elderly, a few newly married women and young children, Aylin barely recognized any of them. To the villagers, the Gardner family was legendary—a grandmother once infamous for her shouting, a son notorious for a stint in prison, and a daughter-in-law who had worked in a nightclub. Yet, who could have imagined their granddaughter would attend an elite university and marry into an esteemed family?

Despite the whispers and gossip, one must never look down on others.

Raiden Gardner was weeping openly, a vulnerability he'd never shown before. Yes, he was grieving, but there was also a sense of losing a part of himself. His mother's overwhelming love had led to his idleness and previous family estrangement. In his youth, he had blamed her for not providing more for him. Now, with age came clarity about the greatness and selflessness of maternal love. But now, the opportunity to express that realization was gone.

Having been released from prison only six months ago, Raiden hadn't had time to prove himself