It was a Monday afternoon in late spring, the kind of day in Paris where the sun insists on flirting but keeps its coat on, leaving you neither warm nor cold. I was inching my way through emails, fighting the existential dread of an overflowing inbox, when my phone buzzed. It wasn’t a name I recognized—just a string of numbers I guessed were from London. Normally, I’d let these mystery calls pass into voicemail purgatory, but something in my gut whispered, Pick up.
“Hello?” I said, with the hesitant caution of someone who’s been on the receiving end of one too many telemarketing pitches.
What followed was a conversation that would shift the tectonic plates of my life. But let me rewind and set the stage a little better because this call? It deserves the full story.
The Fork in My Road
A year earlier, I had wrapped up researching my dissertation in Istanbul, a city that feels like it exists on the edge of both a love affair and a collision. The topic? The role of women in political organizing across the Middle East. Sounds grand and intellectual—and it was—but while my brain was swimming in policy analysis, my heart was restless. I published papers, spoke at conferences, and even flirted with staying in academia. Yet, deep down, I knew—my voice wasn’t there. It wasn’t in theoretical abstracts; it was in stories, in the messy human relationships that weave identity and belonging together.
Still, an existential crisis doesn’t pay the bills, so come that Monday afternoon, I was back in Paris, applying for jobs like a responsible adult, teetering between nonprofit roles that felt safe and…something else. I just didn’t know what the "something else" was.
Then the phone rang.
A Voice Called Destiny (But in a Heavily British Accent)
“Zahra Ahmed?” the voice on the other end said, starkly British and just the right amount of polite.
“Yes, speaking,” I answered, mentally preparing to explain that no, I didn’t want to participate in yet another survey about consumer spending habits.
“Wonderful. My name is Sara Patel,” she continued, “and I’m calling regarding an essay of yours we came across, ‘Exploring the Diaspora Heart.’”
Now, at exactly this moment, my thoughts went from mild confusion to she’s clearly confusing me with someone else. Exploring the Diaspora Heart was a short story I had written almost on a whim during one of those late-night existential spirals. I submitted it to a few literary platforms I admired, fully expecting nothing to come of it.
Sara explained she was an editor at a small but influential UK-based publication and that not only had they read my piece, but also they wanted to discuss publishing more of my work.
It hit me like the first sip of mint tea during Ramadan: the thing I had convinced myself was just a peripheral passion—storytelling—was suddenly being validated by someone else.
“Well,” I blurted awkwardly, “this is…surprising. But wonderful.”
Here’s the thing about phone calls that change your life—they force you to process years of insecurity and latent ambition in seconds. I wanted to ask her Why me?, but I also knew why. This was the universe waving a flag, saying, Stop holding yourself back.
Breaking Tradition (While Honoring It)
Now, I come from a world (as many of you might) where stability and tradition aren’t just values—they’re expectations. As an Egyptian woman in the diaspora, conceptions of “success” often look like predictable job titles, practical goals, and the quiet satisfaction of a life well-ordered. There isn’t exactly a how-to manual for saying, “I think I want to write for a living.”
The funny thing is, while my family deeply values structure, they also built their lives in defiance of it. Moving to Paris when I was ten? That was no easy feat for my parents, but they believed in creating a bigger life for my brother and me. They taught me the beauty of respecting tradition without being bound by it. So I took the call—and the opportunities it promised—not just for me, but for the legacy I carry.
The Aftermath: What Happens When You Say Yes
Did my life immediately transform into some rom-com-like montage of literary success? Absolutely not. Writing isn’t the kind of career that comes with instant rewards or predictable outcomes. It’s messy, inconsistent, and as susceptible to imposter syndrome as a first Tinder date. But here’s what I gained when I said “yes” to Sara’s call:
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Trust in My Instincts
For years, I had told myself the story that my creative voice mattered less than my academic credentials. That call forced me to abandon those gates and let my instincts lead. It taught me to value intuition as much as expertise, whether it’s in career choices or relationships. -
The Power of Small Beginnings
What I once viewed as a single essay—a tiny spark I assumed would go unnoticed—became the bridge to a new life. Sometimes, it’s that one text you’re afraid to send or that coffee date you nearly cancel that creates the biggest shifts. -
Resilience in the Face of Rejection
If we’re honest, writers (like daters) face a parade of rejection. But every “yes” feels sweeter when you’ve survived the “no’s.” The same applies to love—you can’t find the right connection until you let yourself risk a few awkward first dates. -
Redefining ‘Success’
My editor once told me, “Some of the most authentic voices struggle because they don’t conform.” That stuck with me. Whether in work or relationships, success isn’t about conforming to someone else’s rules. It’s about making room for what feels true to you.
The Takeaway: Lessons for Love and Life
While this story might seem career-centered, its lessons have spilled into every corner of my life. As someone who writes (and obsesses over) relationships, I’ve come to see how much connection hinges on a single principle: showing up as you are. Whether it’s in your work, your love life, or that slightly awkward phone call, the person you already are is more than enough.
And for the romantics among us, let me leave you with a little food for thought: Relationships are their own series of unexpected calls. The text you almost don’t reply to. The chance meeting you couldn’t plan for. The feeling of, I didn’t see this coming, but my heart is picking up the phone anyway.
What that spring afternoon taught me is this: take the call. Always take the call. You never know where it might lead.
