The Daring Ms. Congeniality

Ahmed Beydoon Writes

The Daring Ms. Congeniality
1-
They once said: ‘it is the man who chose’, while she rectified: ‘it is the heart making the proper pick’
Therein, a district alley lined with deployed vegetation of thronged trees like soldiers in a morning procession, a beautiful girl dwelt, and she was an epitome of charm unlike others named after Samah. Apparently at the age of twenty, blessed with a face befriended with the reflecting mirror out of shyness. Her exceptional elegance scaled up the take of the assembled gathering, which one might stutter when glimpsing such facial gestures. Along with the dizziness of the poetic lines trying to delineate. Her glowing appearance looked like a dawn showered by the dewdrops of almond seeds, seasoned with a spectral grading between the white stunning forehead and rosy blush of the cheeks.
In addition, two lips where letters eloped and even migrated like birds deserting nests when a love potion of aromatic breeze encountered.
As well, her eyes, Oh behold! Like a looming darkness with glitch transmitted behind, like a velvet blackish depth with wavy questioning and bright lightening, resembling a flick of a wonderful child asking about love. As for her hair, the night got hold of her braided magical locks, lingering and drooping flattened ears of wheat that had worn out the sunrays not to pursue. Shaped like long threaded patience of a female, merged with softness of whispers of silk, replete with infatuating jasmine like filaments of dawn salutation inception.
She was not only a prodigy of charm but also she realized that fact, which she never posited along the platforms of parking lots, so she decided to choose and select her elected partner herself. She reversed the customary inherited norms and broke the rules as she incepted: why did they wait for selection?
Her mom once responded one nightfall combing her little lass hair: ‘this is the heirloom of our ancestry, my girl? ‘that tradition must be complied with and never be trespassed’
She replied as a defendant: ‘it will be broken, if is not fit for the heart proximity’
Thus, the adventure of Samah had set off, she walked along streets not to browse for shopping but for the sake of selection. She kept a close sight on the civil servants in the municipal state boards, looking into their features and feedbacks out of discourse, in their manner of life errands the time they watered down scriptures, signatures and debating disputes. Besides, she strolled around the gardens not for being on a picnic but to read into faces. She leant against a tree in soliloquy “is it my destiny? On the other hand, something else? She entered the libraries reading the head titles and frisking facial manifestations. Diligently she gazed at the passer-by rally as if she painted their inside of them, but the chosen one never be unveiled yet.
One night, someone ran into her during the walk in the public garden, as she got seated reading, he tried to catch again the sequenced day searching for her in vain. While on of officers there soothed the wonderer nerved by saying: ‘you look for an extraordinary girl, when seeing her you feel a veteran lawyer ready to cast a judgement upon your lawsuit at a first glance’
Another wayfarer: ‘she never pictured a smile, some other time she blasted a feast festivity of laughter’
She never pursued handsome guys since she was the origin of that significance. She was toeing the congruity of souls, of a pulsation like hers, opting out that gallant man who never feared a woman knowing her so-doing.
Another night triggered an alert with a blowing wind in her ears as if there be a prophecy: ‘he will come, the time you stopped and abstained form chasing, he willy nilly called upon without plea’
Didn’t she stop running? Otherwise, the audacious congeniality will last for walking against the recurrence of the moving stream until broken.
2-
She stopped for a while, not for some comfy rest but when heart was puzzled: ‘stand up, he is there, one night in Baghdad when light was yawning out of laziness above sidewalks, the wind transformed into another tale told amongst the fluttering doughs and branches, Samah had a seating position to eavesdrop the jocund talk of Café Zaitona, the smallest in Karada, overlooking the vehicle lane traffic flow, like a window of a forgotten dream, while she let her book wide open before her, however, she wasn’t reading, she rendered through keeping close watch on purpose, she could count up the trotting footsteps, hearing the hissing of the adoration spells, thinking over in a state of meditation that book might grant her a precious momentum the same as whatsoever being sailed across phrases.
All of a sudden, a young man stormed the scene as if the time scaled down the approaching sounds, carrying forward a sketch booklet of black draft, dressed in black shirt and greyish luxurious pants, walking along with steady step forward full of trust and resilience without making a hustle. It looked like peace initiations were engendered inside, with unknown proclamation to others, he wasn’t either handsome like the photographic pics, nevertheless, his face was a paragon of novel page read someday and I loved more and more then I forgot the hiding refuge placing.

He came across closer to the nearest table in the vicinity; he had a neighboring seat with serene glimpse and open up a book to read. While she knew well that he had some feelings for her, she sensed even the oscillating vibrant love psalms in the air at a distant temperature. Some sort of light-weighed shiver passed past the adjacent tables when something called attention was born.
Accordingly, she heightened her sighting eyes and he reciprocated but never pictured a smile, when the eyes scandalized everything ‘do you like books?’ he said quietly as if an elaboration of an old speech, or appeal to move on, she answered ‘sometimes, when I couldn’t find another to speak with’, he ‘do you find who grasped you when talking?’, she replied ‘rarely, I choose words like picking out the suitable shoes carefully as the road is so far away’.
He pictured a laughter: ‘weird and peculiar resemblance, but somehow amazing’, she said ‘and you, what you write?’ he responded ‘I wrote about a lady dreaded wait and preferred search like you’.
‘Do you mean, I?’ he abruptly stormed: ‘maybe, or not, but you are the one’, while she felt something blurred and trembled her messy inside trying to sort out. Taking after such a gentle voice of that youngling to move out that fussy atmosphere prevailing her world and dimmed her intuition beforehand.

He wasn’t like those knockers on the doors fiercely and vociferously, but like those dwellers like a breeze with tranquility. The discourse intonation got elevated without divergent limits or showing off warning, as if words found out a way to compromise both sides on a common stance, prefabricated ages ago and the echoes still reached out the targeted destination.
He said: ‘do you believe in love at a first glance?’ he impelled his industrious daring question looking into her eyes. The answer was ‘No’, he wondered about the reason, as she replied ‘since love never poured down form skies above, rather instilled seeds then planted, afterwards watered by patience’, he illustrated ‘but… isn’t high time for the sapling seed to know the whereabouts?’
She mutually painted a response with calming guess: ‘Perhaps, I did find the fit soil to instill now’, that night she felt the world became lighter and the sun got nearer, when leaving the café, handling a small shred of paper he gave her with a sealed name ‘Raed’, and phone number fed with a sole phrase: ‘I won’t be the one who chooses but you will’. Since then, the daring girl slowly never walked against the current but towards the sailing ships.

3-
The paper was not just an inscribed number but a tiny promise that something infatuating with vividness and vitality got some formation in the shadow of narrowing bodies, since Samah spent her night holding the paper with finger tips as virgins hold the first menstrual raining pads, it seemed a simple numerical count and a sole sentence structure, yet the phrase was more melodious than being a confession she encountered before: ‘I won’t be the one who chooses but you will’, look! Too many men passed by? Too many who took a line of boasted peacock? The arrogant parrot-cry? Too many insolent rushes into her belligerently, like the old school of showing off. Too much time she responded with a strict harsh smirk like a fragile glassy bar never been infiltrated? But, Raed wasn’t the one to go forward but he would rather wait with lenience and clemency. He never asked for a return but blazed the trail. The next day she was sitting at her terrace holding that teacup with a placid face away from cosmetics, the rising dawn pictured no imbued clouds, while she gazed at the paper once again, and picked the cell phone, hesitated somehow for long, then she put it back. Once she looked at the number, and twice she blinked as if questioning her heart: ‘is he the man?’ at last, she sent off a short message ‘do you write every night about a lady like me? Or Ain’t I the last chapter?’ the response came swiftly at once in a flash: ‘you are the first chapter, the others were preface’, she felt a beautiful touching shiver as he got clad in a celestial dress, then winded up braided hair with a satin white silky hair pick, she felt a throbbing heart beats among ribs as she firstly became a toddler in the pathway of inspiration and hope.
The next rendezvous where the streaming lines of a river met, they both sat under the berries tree, the witnessing water recited whatsoever untold, Raed looked tranquil, courteous, replete with melody unlearnt, and the ability to persuade as he never wanted to be convinced.
‘I am afraid I am a weird lady, unfit for the norms’, she said like a troubled flying wing, he replied ‘norms never suit you?’, she elaborated ‘ people never got my choice’, he responded ‘who of us said life is trodden to satisfy all?’ as if his soothing words emancipated her, since she was a kind of a girl following in footsteps of others, dressed up in faces unlike hers, even smiles tasteless. She became a kind of female full of herself and her entity rather than subjugation.
She set her heart and said: ‘I am not an easy nut to crack?’ he replied looking her eyes without a wink: ‘even I’ at the end of discourse and roaming around he asked ‘could I see you again?’ she said ‘if my heart agreed’, he ‘ did it?’, she un-hesitantly replied ‘ it started to agree be with cautions’, they split and returned back homes, but he was attaining a move forward called persuasion, not an inherent habit.
4-
In love, you never meant to choose by heart, you must withstand your pick and selection aloof from the gossiping swords of heresy, daggers of eyes and poisons of the habitual norms.
Days behind that meeting at the vestige of the riverbank, silence without correspondence messages or meetings, she longed for that gathering, everything looked strange in Samah even her response to her mom or envisaged reflection on the mirror. Raed was not a transitory dream or an abrupt coincidence merely, but an idea instilled inside a heart of a woman to formulate a stamina and will. One daytime, seated with her mom on the assembled table, she was overcome by maternal speech ‘you loved to walk around recently as I heard, once in the café and occasionally in the garden, do you search for something?’, Samah raised her eyesight and stormed her reply plainly manifest-clear: ‘but look for someone’
A moment of relief rendered heavily then the awaiting question appeared ‘do you find him out?’, she ‘Maybe’ and resembles me’, the elder sister burst into a metallic giggle with insipidness: ‘do we have the ability no to choose men like dresses’, Samah never swarmed with perplexity with ready answers: ‘do you think men are the only having right to choose? I did and never regret’.
The surrounding revolted against her words that this was against the norms and people might laugh at them, as they had to make out allegations that she was running after him and lost her decency. While Samah was standstill and looked at the table as if a theatrical show at the stage of an old way with a repeated stubborn dull manner.
She replied quietly: ‘they know nothing about me, I never want to be sold out like a commodity in the market where the man decided the right decision, and it is me’
That night she sent a short instant message for Raed: ‘don’t you think love battled against the talk of people?’, the reply came out of the blue: ‘if your love was strong enough, it will steadfast in front of the globe’. The next week they both decided to meet in the Book Fair before the eyes of people, the reason not for her showing off , but for her dire need to test ‘whether or not she can protect her choice before the tyrant oppressive eyes of the presence of attendees’.
She did put on her charming dress without any exaggeration, tackling with fistful grip of a tiny bag, without an embellished face. They both strolled across the lined queues, some knew and other unknown, some got astonished and others were teased or green with envy, while afew started murmuring with whispers. But, she walked side by side with Raed steadily like his shadowy twining figure inseparable, one said ‘isn’t she the daughter of the mister Karim? She walked with a stranger masculine’ another said ‘Oh what a pity, poor mom could never have control over’, she never directed her attentions to that triviality and talkativeness blabbermouth. It had no interest in her new world but those rising sounds within after the endeared meeting when Raed said: ‘ I understand now why I choose you, you are strong enough, you can start a love theme without shyness or intimidation or masked veils’, she replied nodding ‘for the first time of my life, I feel, Here I am’.
The righteous question did not appear not addressing Samah but for Raed: ‘will you be the promising suitor? Or you are the fiancer?’ that repulsive question will be the hectic fire flamed against the true manhood.

5-
It is not about a man loving you… Rather, he will be proud of you for a while
It is the matter you opted him, not to be afraid to say: Yes… I was the one who was chosen out.
Three weeks have passed since the Book Fair meeting…
It contains chapters of meditation,
Weeks of contemplation,
Samah and Raed did not befit the name of rendezvous or dating, rather, it was a silent confrontation.
They met at the border between the old and the new.
On a warm afternoon, Raed sat in the living room of his family’s house.
His father, a man in his fifties, retired from the Ministry of Education… He pettifogged
the newspaper sentinel and had been waiting for news of his son’s marriage for years… As if waiting
Rain in a merciless summer.
His mother, a sober woman from the generation of long silence, she said
Have you finally found that promising Halal befitted girl?
Raed can no longer tolerate evasion.
He said simply:
Yes. I did. But she… isn’t like all the other girls.
‘What does it mean?’
The father asked… He slowly lowered down the newspaper.
‘ She chose me… Before I went any further.’
Mother had to be silenced. But her face turned a little pale
The father narrowed his eyes and said:
“You mean, she offered herself?!”
‘Nay… My father… She gave me the honor of being the one she chose…
To make sure of my heart and mind intentions.’

The situation was like earth shattering…
Not because he just said what can’t be said… Rather, because it presented a concept
New to the relationship… A concept that the homes of the Iraqi were not accustomed to.
A house where a young man choose the bride after asking about her…
In addition, he asked permission for her… He advanced to her as a recruited soldier advances in
Obedience queue.
Here the adverse stance happened… The girl is the one who made the decision…
Rather, it is a harassment and metamorphosis of norms like thunderbolt in a sky that knows no clouds.
6-

His mother said calmly putting poison to the honey and made it harder on him:
“My son… We do not want someone to go after you… We want someone who respects herself…
And protect your good name with grace and respect.’
Raed responded with the sentence “No”
Rather, I want someone who respects my mind…
And who gives me a place…By choice… never begged.’
He got up from his seat… It was as if the wind had filled his chest… He said:
“I will propose to her. Not because I discovered it… but because she found me.”
The date has been set for Raed to visit Samah’s house… But, the question spread like ash in the fire
‘Who chose whom?’
Whispers of neighbors… Relatives’ inquiries… Looks
Gossiping… it all carried that heavy burden of ridiculous ironic hidden insinuations.
Even some of Raed’s friends said:
‘Be careful… do not look weak in the presence of a strong woman.’
He said with a calm smile:
‘The weak are those who fear the strong woman… Not the one who set an affair with her’.
On the promised day, Raed stood in front of Samah’s house carrying white bouquet bunch of flowers… In an elegant gray suit… And a pulse disclosed. Looked confused enough. Samah opened the door for him.
Yes… She’s the one who opened the door… Neither her father nor her brother.
‘Hello to the person who was chosen.’
She said it with a smile the mirror had never seen before.
He entered saying:
‘Do I have the honor of being the one who wrote it on the first blanket page in
Your book?’
‘I even wrote you on the cover… before I started writing.’
They looked as if met and melted together in front of everyone.
‘And I announced permission for everyone… In clear words… Without ambiguity:
‘I chose him. No because no one proposed to me… we looked like each other’.
Herein, the familial councils was divided.
Some of them are from the class of… Some of them were confused… Some of them nodded their heads
Sarcastically… Some of them cried… Her mother was crying… Not because of declaration of the objection of the manner of suiting, rather, because she saw in her daughter what she had never dared to do.
Therefore, the engagement took place.
But, society did not ever remain silent.

7-
She had become the talk of the town since then as a provocative prototype of a female
A rising conflict in gatherings between admiration and contempt.
Raed left her house… He walked on a silent street as if it were a way back from a roaring battle.
But he was not defeated on the asphalt of Baghdad like a rhythmic tone of resonant drums.
His steps were decisive with stubbornness and steadiness
And in his pocket… No paper like the first meeting… just a promise.
And in his heart… Do not hesitate… but a woman.
As for Samah, since after her suitor left, she sat near her window…
She combed her long hair… In her eyes is a forest of reassurance.
‘The question is no longer: who chose whom?’
To love publicly,
“Rather, it became: Whoever dares first”… In addition, he manifested straightened stand said
“Yes… that’s my decision.”
For the first time… I felt that the daring lovely – the one that walks against
Current – no longer running…
Rather, it began to pave a way… Others walk it after that.
Moreover, because she opened the door with her hand… She told him to come forward… she closed the door of fears forever.
Henceforth, the real conflict has not yet begun.
“When hearts choose… Collide with the world… By customs and bag of the jealous. And for those who do not want love to be created outside their influence or dominance, their guardianship.”
Here came the wedding battle!
‘Let’s start with…’
Where Samah will stand under the light… In a white dress… In order not to introduce her to a man…
Rather, to say to the world:
“I chose.”
How hard it is to stand between people and be honest… What is more beautiful is to triumph over customs in a white dress and with a full smile.
The wedding night was near… closer to the dawn breeze when
The call to prayer is one minute ahead.
However, it wasn’t a night like any other… just
It wasn’t a party… but a clear statement of unfamiliar love
A proclamation… A challenge against the inheritance to say
The habit is as the plant penetrates a cracked wall of life.
In the big hall placed without poignant decorations, where white roses on both sides of the aisle across the tables lined up, soberly resembling the dignity of lovers… Women and men sat down in two opposite rows… As if they were court witnesses… No, but festivity of a wedding.
The eye features were different…
Some were cheerful… Some of them were skeptical… Some of them were waiting for a slip, as if It suited a kind of farce or sarcasm to be presented. Waiting for a scene but Samah entered premeditatedly
I entered in a white dress as soft as field cotton… Not flashy… Not
Fashion outcry… Rather, it resembled her.
Her wavy hair was like a song in the evening…
In her hand is a bouquet of cloves and jasmine… No sign of red roses
It was as if she were saying: ‘I’m not a story of fire… but a story of light.
As for Raed, apparently at the end of the corridor, he was standing… In his dark suit with steady sharp looks, picturing his bride as she surrendered her heart to him on her own.
Before the procession began, and before the musician played, Samah suddenly asked for the microphone. Organizers were confused and bewildered since the brides were not known to speak at
Wedding!
Whereas she knew exactly what she was doing. She grabbed the mouthpiece then directed toward the audience as she looked like a woman who knows the weight of every word:
‘ I know too many of you came today out of curiosity… Not for Wedding party and congratulations.’
‘I know some of you whispered in closed gatherings: She chose him.. as I am a perpetrator or a criminal committing a felony or a deficiency.’
‘But I stand before you now… In a whiteness unblemished by shame or being stigmatized to say something:
“Yes… I chose him…” Because love is not an auction… Not a grant, grants from a man to a woman, rather, it is a partnership between two people replete with full freedom”
“I chose him… No because he’s the only one… But because he is the only one who didn’t fear to be chosen”
Silence prevailed; some eyes fell to the ground with picturing some fainted smiles.
It appeared on the lips of women who wished to own half of her daughter’s valor.
As for her mother, she was crying in a small tight corner… Not because of her daughter being beyond the norm… but because of the pride transcended over the customs
Then Samah walked slowly…
And with every step forward, she was breaking a stone From an old road.
When she got to Raed eventually, he told her while grasping her hand: ‘Are you ready for to continue the pathway together?’, She answered without hesitation:
‘ I already walk half of it alone… and I will complete the other half with you.
And when they exchanged rings… It was not just a mere wedding ritual… but rather a kinship nexus of respect. At the end of the part, a present friend whispered in his partners’ ears: ‘I never love her but respect’, the other replied: ‘the folk might laugh today but they will imitate her tomorrow’.
Thus, the party wasn’t the end of a story but a beginning of a lady trespassing the boundaries of patience and respectively chose on her own, and became that daring beauty cracking the river stream, not for the sake of a man but for dignity.