The Loud Ones Don't Pass

Layla had always been taught that beauty would fade. And while she accepted there was some truth in that sentiment, she just didn’t believe in the permanence of it. After all, winter’s death eventually ended, bowing down to the emergence of spring. To her, nature was a vow that promised perseverance.

She couldn’t imagine looking at the campus buildings and forests surrounding her and ever finding them anything less than breathtaking and majestic. She had been so afraid to move so far from home, but had found home here. It was everywhere, in the chirping of the birds in welcome, the wind as it sang melodies, the glistening of the lake that tempted students to skip their classes. But especially, home was in the buildings themselves. The professors, her fellow students, and the beauty that surrounded them. When she had first arrived, she simply could not believe that she was walking into what was practically a castle, complete with dark bricks, stained glass, and a spire, just to take calculus.

Twigs crunched under her boots as she made her way to her first class. The air was warm with a mild chill dancing in the breeze. The kind of weather that made fools out of those who thought spring had arrived at last.

“Layla!” A voice called out behind her. Seconds later, arms had been thrown around her shoulders and squealing filled her ears.

Layla laughed. “Hi Fatima. Looks like you’ve forgotten what today is.” At her friend’s blank look, she reminded her.

“Noooo! Not an impromptu paper. I swear we just had one like two weeks ago! Why do they want us to do so many?” Fatima groaned. Her complaints continued as they entered the building and found their seats in the classroom.

A hush fell over the classroom as Dr. Berkin strode to the front to begin the day. Layla had always liked her. Her warm brown eyes and smiling voice was the only reason she and most other students in their class had chosen the 8 am session. Still, most of the class erupted into groans as the instructions for their essay were passed around and notebooks were begrudgingly pulled out of bags.

“Before you all bite my head off, there are some important details about today’s assignment you don’t want to miss!” Dr. Berkin announced as she finished handing out the instruction papers. Layla sat up straighter. They had already done multiple papers this semester, and there had never been anything special about them.

“These are not going to be graded,” the professor continued, holding her hand up as if pushing back questions. “However, don’t go slacking off. Instead of grading, they are being entered into the dean’s writing competition that is being held in multiple classes across disciplines. There will be multiple winners, and I’m told there are going to be some pretty great prizes. So do your best, and good luck!”

It was about two hours later when Layla grabbed her backpack and made her way out of the classroom. She was lost in thought as she stepped out of the sociology building, not noticing Fatima sitting on a bench outside until she called her name.

“You didn’t need to wait for me! You finished much earlier than me, how was it?” Layla asked, although she still wasn’t even sure what she herself thought of the test. Fatima’s face also held a hint of unease, as if she was trying to pinpoint what exactly felt off.

Just as she opened her mouth, Samantha from sociology strode up to where they were standing, and they fell silent. “Hi Fatima, Layla! What’d you guys think of the paper today? I think it could have been easier, but hopefully we all did well.” Samantha kept going, discussing how her pen had kept running out. Layla quirked one eyebrow at Fatima, amused but impatient to move on, until suddenly her attention snagged on Samantha’s last sentence.

“Wait, Samantha, what was your prompt?”

“I had to analyze book burning in Fahrenheit 451 and the connections to the suppression of education today. Was that not yours?” She answered, her voice trailing off as she registered Layla and Fatima’s confusion.

Layla glanced at Fatima before answering, “I had to write about resistance to oppression as depicted in The Hunger Games trilogy, and what my personal values are regarding the subject.”

“Me too.” Fatima joined in. The three of them discussed further about how odd their essays had felt compared to the prior ones, and the strange fact that this time not all students even had the same topics.

***

Two days later, Layla made her way to her morning sociology class again. The ornate black door to the building groaned as she swung it open and stepped inside. Fatima had not been waiting for her today, which she had thought odd but brushed away. Now, as she took her seat in the room, her friend was still nowhere to be found. Layla felt a pit forming in her stomach, one she couldn’t even explain. Fatima was probably just sick, or had decided to skip. But why did that not comfort her at all?

She pulled out her phone and sent off a quick text, noticing that none of the previous texts she had sent Fatima from that morning had been read or answered. She frowned, but tucked her phone away as class began. Dr. Berkin was standing at the front of class again, but this time, something had changed. Her usual dark hair that was so put together Layla was envious of it was in disarray. Her clothing was wrinkled, rather than perfectly neat and ironed. But the most noticeable of all was that her smile was absent, and her eyes seemed to be swollen. The pit in Layla’s stomach tripled in size, and her heart pounded into her throat. Dr. Berkin explained their assignment for the day, half-heartedly smiling at the end, yet it didn’t reach her eyes.

Layla got home and flopped onto her bed, checking for a reply from Fatima every few minutes for what felt like over an hour. The reply never came. Despite the feeling of wrongness she could not shake, her exhaustion overtook her.

***

Layla was dreaming. She walked through a seemingly endless path of overgrown grass riddled with weeds, lost and confused. She looked up and saw a statue she walked past everyday and had seen probably a hundred times. It was covered in rust, and something gooey and brown she didn’t want to think too closely about identifying. She realized at last that she was on campus, the decay pressing in on her from every side. Something started ringing in the background.

She woke up.

Blinking a few times to clear the grogginess, she reached for her phone, seeing new texts from Fatima informing her that she was fine. She had had a meeting run over with an advisor. She planned to go do homework at the library tomorrow, and asked Layla to join.

Layla confirmed their meeting and put her phone down, staring at her ceiling. Her dream played on a loop in her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so unsettled by a random dream.

The next morning was overcast, with storms on the horizon. Layla walked briskly to the center of campus towards the library, shivering despite her jacket. The weeping willow on the path was dancing ominously in the wind as she approached the building, the clouds finally letting go of their burden. She ran the rest of the way, barely avoiding being drenched.

Fatima looked up as she plopped into the chair. Her lips twitched as she surveyed Layla from top to bottom, and Layla scowled. “I didn’t know it was gonna rain. Shut up.”

“You look like a wet dog.”

Layla made to get up, and Fatima laughed, pulling her back down. They pulled out their laptops and began their assignments, working in silence except for the occasional whispers of people around them. After about an hour, Layla yawned, crossing her hands behind her head and leaning back in her chair. An email notification slid across the bottom of her laptop screen, and she opened it, revealing an invitation from the dean for a meeting regarding the excellence in her writing. Writing was definitely not her strong suit, so she had had no expectation of anything coming from the paper. She stared at the email for another few minutes, wondering if it was a scam and having to confirm the dean’s email address multiple times before she finally showed Fatima.

As her friend read the screen, her expression darkened, lines forming around her mouth. Layla watched her, confused and a little upset. Was Fatima upset that Layla had done well and she hadn’t? Fatima looked up and met her eyes, and Layla was shocked to see guilt in them.

“I lied to you yesterday. I wasn’t in class because I was in the dean’s office. Don’t go, Layla,” Fatima said softly. Her tone was almost apologetic, and Layla just felt more lost than before.

“Why? What happened-” Layla’s words were cut off by a booming sound and a shout somewhere behind her. She whirled around in her seat, and stared in horror. A student who had been working quietly was being wrestled to the ground by two police officers. Layla looked closer, and gasped. The boy, Karim, was the president of their Students Against War group, one of the fastest growing at their school. He was also Layla’s co-president. She gulped, her mouth drying. Rage and fear filled her simultaneously, fogging her ability to think.

Before she even realized what she was doing, her phone camera was out and recording, and she was standing only a few feet away from him. “Let him go!” She screamed. They acted like they couldn’t hear her, but one of the officers shot a glare at her. She glared back, angling her phone to get their faces clearly. Fatima came up behind her, recording as well.

“Karim!” Layla’s distressed voice didn’t sound like her own.

“Layla, stay where you are.” Karim said to her calmly as an officer yanked his wrists inhumanely and forced the handcuffs onto them. The only sign he was affected was his slight wince, and the anxiety in his eyes.

The two officers hauled him out the door. A few minutes later, Fatima put her hand on Layla’s shoulder. They were still standing at the spot beside Karim’s seat, frozen in shock. “I wanted to tell you after your chemistry exam today, but the ‘dean meeting’ is a farce. The whole writing award is. They just want to monitor all our ideologies. The dean threatened me, Layla. She told me we must dismantle the club and stop all activities. Or else I'll be at risk of suspension or expulsion.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“To eat shit.” Fatima grinned, and Layla let out a humorless laugh. All of a sudden, she felt as though every ounce of energy in her body had been drained.

“Fatima, how did they know you’re in SAW leadership?” Students Against War did not keep a roster of leaders’ names due to the controversial reception, and most activities were carried out while wearing face coverings like masks. Karim’s unfortunate targeting had likely been due to one of the many viral videos from last year’s protests on the quad.

Fatima was silent, her face contorting into a mask of anger. “They matched my handwriting in the essay to the anonymous letter we wrote them last semester demanding an end to war profiteering.” She was gritting her teeth. Layla was astounded by the devious cunning and determination of the administration, but she also wasn’t surprised. When confronted with their wretched contributions to murder and famine, the people with the least to say were always the most decorated in degrees and wealth.

“So much for their PhDs.” She muttered. It had always worked this way, and although she didn’t know when or even if they would see change, she tried to keep hoping. Without hope, they would drown. “But what about Dr. Berkin? She’s the one who assigned the papers.” Layla truly couldn’t imagine her professor’s willing involvement in any of this.

Fatima shrugged. “That’s a mystery for me too. But don’t be so shocked, Layla, you never know people’s colors.”

Layla agreed with that sentiment for most things and people, but she couldn’t help but disagree here. Not wanting to argue, she left it as a mystery for now.

***

The girls headed to Fatima’s apartment, uploading the videos they had taken of Karim’s arrest onto the SAW socials and calling an emergency protest for the next afternoon. They ate a quick lunch while Layla wrote back a curt email to the dean, dismissing his request and claiming disinterest. As they began preparing posters and materials for the protest, Fatima’s phone pinged. She opened it and scanned the notification, then announced, “Your mystery is solved.”

Layla took her phone and saw an email from Dr. Berkin, addressed to the whole class, apologizing for the assignment and informing them that she had been fired. She clarified that she had been told to do it under the same pretense as them, to grant awards to talented students. She found out after and had fought with the administration, resulting in the firing. Layla couldn’t believe what she was reading. How far would this go? How many lives would they ruin without remorse? Dr. Berkin was one of her favorite professors, an opinion shared by most students who had taken her. She would be missed.

Slowly, Fatima’s apartment filled with other students who had come to make posters and signs until the endeavor had to be spread out to six different apartments. Layla felt something like hope blooming in her chest as she watched them all.

***

The next afternoon arrived with perfect temperatures. A light breeze swayed the wind chimes and birds clustered around feeders hanging from tree branches. The sun was partly hidden by clouds, the remaining rays pooling onto small areas of the sidewalk surrounding the quad.

Every single inch of the quad was covered by students, and even faculty. Layla had never seen this many people out here at the same time before, and despite the gravity of their situation, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It was a terrible way for people to finally wake up, sure, but it would have been damning if they were asleep, willfully closing their eyes and ears while sirens shattered the silence outside.

The march began, with the students heading to the main administration building first. It was similarly designed to the rest of campus, resembling an old castle, with beige bricks along the walls and creaky, heavy doors. The sunlight danced on the windows, giving it an air of welcoming. It was the most repulsive sight she had ever seen.

Looking at the building in its facade of glory, standing tall and strong while destruction of the worst caliber was suffered at its hands around the world, Layla was finally forced to see the truth. She had been wrong. Beauty could indeed fade permanently. But as she took in the students, marching like an immovable sea, proving the presence of their souls, she realized that that was where beauty persevered.

She smiled.