The Wrong Suitcase — Yanlış Bavul

Elif was a young engineer from Izmir. In March she was invited to a conference in Dublin, her first trip abroad for work. She had to give a short talk about solar panels on the second day. For weeks she practised it in front of the mirror. She packed her best blue jacket, her notes and a small box of Turkish delight for her colleagues.

The flight was long, but everything went well until she reached the baggage hall. Her black suitcase came out quickly, and she was very pleased. She took it, found a taxi and went straight to her hotel. In her room she opened the suitcase and froze. Inside there were three men's shirts, a pair of enormous running shoes and a book about birds. There was no blue jacket and no Turkish delight. "Oh no," she said aloud. "This isn't mine!"

She called the airport, and a tired woman answered the phone. "If the other passenger reports it, we will contact you," the woman said. "But my talk is tomorrow morning," Elif explained. "I'm sorry, madam. Nothing can be done tonight." Elif looked at the clothes she was wearing: old jeans and a grey sweater with a coffee stain. Even worse, her notes were in the lost suitcase.

That evening she sat in the hotel bar and wrote her talk again from memory. An old man at the next table was watching her with interest. "You look like someone who has had a bad day," he said kindly. Elif told him the whole story, and he laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. "My wife owns a clothes shop around the corner," he said. "I'm sure she can help." Twenty minutes later his wife arrived with a dark green jacket that fitted perfectly. "You can pay me when your suitcase is found," she said, and refused to take any money.

The next morning Elif walked into the conference hall in her new jacket. Before her talk, the main speaker was introduced: Professor Brian Doyle, a famous expert on wind energy. He came on stage in a very elegant suit, but his shoes looked strange. They were small, white and clearly made for a woman. "Please excuse my shoes," he said to the audience with a smile. "Yesterday I took the wrong suitcase at the airport, and these were the only shoes inside that I could wear." "Whoever she is, she also has very good taste in Turkish sweets." The whole hall laughed, and Elif turned as red as a tomato.

During the coffee break she went up to him nervously. "Professor Doyle, I think you are wearing my shoes," she said. "And I think you have my book about birds," he answered, laughing. He admitted that he had eaten half of the Turkish delight on the first night. In return, he asked her to send him the name of the shop in Izmir where she had bought it. That afternoon they exchanged suitcases in the hotel lobby like two spies in a film.

Elif's talk went very well, even though she gave it without her notes. A month later she received an email from Professor Doyle. He was starting a new research project and wanted her to join his team for a year. "Anyone who can give a good talk after losing everything is the kind of person I need," he wrote. At the end of the email there was one more line: "Please bring more Turkish delight."