True Beauty Rises

chapter two

There are nights when the world feels like a weight pressing down on a single fragile soul. Nights when every whisper in the dark is sharpened into laughter, when every mirror becomes a cruel judge, and when even the voice of a mother—meant to soothe—turns instead into a whip of fire. In such hours, a girl may begin to believe the world’s verdict: that she is unworthy, unlovable, unseen.

Yet life, mysterious as it is, has a way of weaving contradictions. Even in the deepest pit of shame, the smallest spark can blaze. A glance, a word, a presence unexpected—it is enough to alter the rhythm of despair. And when that stranger appears, he does not arrive with banners of salvation, nor promises of forever. He arrives simply with eyes that look, truly look, past the heavy armor of pain and ridicule, into the tender essence that has been buried but never destroyed.

She has grown used to hearing her body spoken of as a burden, a spectacle, a mistake. Her laughter has been dismissed, her gentleness ignored, her dreams ridiculed. Even in her own home, love is bartered for perfection, and kindness is sacrificed to vanity. But beneath the harshness lies a hunger—a hunger to be seen, to be touched by recognition, to be cherished not in spite of who she is, but because of it.

And so, on an ordinary day made extraordinary by its cruelty, a single sentence from a stranger breaks through the wall of silence she has built around herself. It is not a grand declaration. It is not wrapped in poetry or staged for an audience. It is simple. Pure. Real. And it plants itself inside her like a seed, whispering of a truth she had long forgotten: that she is not invisible. That she is more than the names they gave her. That even sugar, fragile and fleeting, can sweeten the bitterest of nights.

That stranger—so unexpected, so bold—had managed with a single, simple sentence to pull a smile from her lips. A real smile, not the strained curve she forced whenever someone asked her to pose for pictures she hated, but one that grew from deep within. For once, someone did not see her as the “fat elephant,” the cruel nickname her mother never tired of hurling at her. Instead, he looked at her as though she were made of sugar—sweet, radiant, desirable. She searched her memory, trying to recall a time when anyone had spoken kindly of her appearance, but the truth was sharp: no one ever had. Not even her own mother. Especially not her mother. Shadia’s words were always knives, laced with venom, stripping away any softness that might have sheltered her daughter’s heart.

Her brief joy was shattered when Shadia’s shrill voice came crashing back into the scene, jarring as a trumpet at dawn.

“You stupid girl! Move, we have work to do. Just pray someone accepts you for this advertisement—though God knows why. Otherwise, no food for you for two whole weeks! Only water and one apple a day. Maybe—just maybe—you’ll lose enough weight to look halfway decent, though I doubt it.”

The bitterness in her tone scraped through the air.

Abed’s jaw tightened. He had barely managed to control himself earlier, and now this? His blood simmered. He clenched his fists, every nerve in his body urging him to retaliate, to silence that cruel, poisonous tongue.

“And what business is it of yours?” he snapped, his voice low but dangerous. “Didn’t I tell you already to leave her alone? Mind your advertisements and your so-called fame, and stop tearing her down!”

Shadia turned to him, her painted lips curling into a sneer. She raised her hand in mockery, pointing at him with theatrical disdain.

“And who exactly are you, hmm? Who are you to interfere between me and my daughter? This is none of your concern. Stay out of it. And you—” she barked, turning to her daughter, “move! Didn’t you hear me?”

The girl lowered her head, her shoulders slumping in silent defeat. Obediently, she followed her mother, her steps heavy as though each one dragged her further into a pit she could never climb out of.

Abed’s chest tightened. He reminded himself—she is her mother. However cruel, however vile, she was still the woman who had given birth to her. He could not step in as he wanted. He could not change what years of venom had already carved into the girl’s soul. And yet, watching her shrink under the weight of her mother’s words disturbed him more than the insults he had endured earlier that day from his own arrogant employer.

When they disappeared into the back halls, Abed should have left. He should have walked away and let the whole miserable scene fade. But something—an unexplainable pull—kept his feet rooted. Against his better judgment, he followed.

Behind the glossy lights and cameras, he stumbled into a hushed conversation, and what he heard churned his stomach with disgust.

The oily voice of the director, Rafat, slithered into the air:

“Shadia, my opinion hasn’t changed. Your daughter simply won’t work as a model with that… body. She’ll need to lose a tremendous amount of weight. Or…” He trailed off deliberately.

Shadia leaned in eagerly, not even noticing the way his gaze lingered on her daughter in ways no respectable man’s should. “Or what? Tell me. Whatever it is, she’ll do it. Even if I have to force her. Just say it, Rafat.”

His smirk spread like a stain. “If she comes home with me tonight… by morning, I’ll make sure she’s booked everywhere. For those eyes of hers, I’ll create a campaign bigger than anything this country has ever seen. Otherwise?” He shrugged, feigning pity. “No one will risk their brand on a girl who looks like her.”

For a second, even Shadia faltered. She recoiled, frowning. “Rafat, you know I’ve never been part of that kind of filth. Neither has she. And honestly, I don’t understand what you even see in her. She’s not beautiful, not stylish. Let’s just drop this nonsense.”

But Rafat stepped closer, his expression darkening, his voice dripping with menace.

“It’s the only way. Our connection could make her famous overnight. Think about it—have you ever seen a model that heavy? She’s a risk. I’m offering you a lifeline, Shadia. Don’t waste it.”

Abed’s stomach lurched. His vision blurred red with rage. He couldn’t listen any longer. He turned away from the vile pair and searched for her.

And there she was—sitting alone in the corner, away from everyone, as though trying to disappear into the shadows.

What am I even doing here? he scolded himself. I should leave. This isn’t my problem. Her mother is her burden, not mine. If I stay, I’ll only drown with her.

But then his mind spat back the image of Rafat’s leering smile, of Shadia’s willingness to barter her own daughter’s dignity. His fists clenched again. How can I walk away when they’re bargaining with her honor? With her future?

He almost turned his back and left anyway, forcing himself toward the door. But then she looked up, and their eyes met. And she smiled.

It was small, fragile, but it pierced him like sunlight through storm clouds. Without realizing, he smiled back. For an instant, the room, the people, the poison—all of it vanished.

“I’m Nesma,” she said softly, as though introducing herself for the first time in her life. “And… I’m sorry if my mother’s words upset you. She can be… a little harsh sometimes. But she’s kind, really. Deep down.”

Abed tilted his head, regarding her with a mix of disbelief and tenderness. Her attempt to defend the very woman who had destroyed her spirit was both heartbreaking and astonishing.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, a teasing note slipping into his voice, “I’d say you were sugar-coated stubbornness, Nesma. My sukary. And if I’m going to put up with this circus, then I say we escape it. Let’s go grab coffee—or even just juice. Anything’s better than choking on this so-called romance drama.”

Nesma giggled, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. It was the sound of innocence, unpolished and pure.

“It’s called forbidden love, not ‘romance drama’! And besides, aren’t you moving a little too fast? You haven’t even told me your name yet.”

Abed blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a laugh. “You’re right. My mistake. I’m Abed. Architect. Miserable by profession, unlucky by fate. But here I am. And if you don’t come with me right now to that café, well… that’s your choice.”

Her eyes sparkled, suddenly mischievous, daring him.

“And what will you do if I refuse? Carry me?”

He leaned closer, his grin crooked with mischief.

“Why not? I’m ready. Just say the word, and I’ll do it right here, in front of everyone.”

Her laughter rang out again, light and reckless, and for the first time in a long time, Abed felt alive.

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✨ To be continued…