Resurrection

The Beauty Contest
The man stared as he passed, a devilish smirk lingering on his lips.
“Thousands of years have passed,” Nefertiti muttered, her voice edged with irritation, “yet this behavior in some men remains unchanged.”
“Madam, please ignore him,” Paul said gently. “Don’t let such distractions cloud your mind. We must focus on the contest.”
Nefertiti—history’s celebrated queen of Egypt, the embodiment of beauty from 1300 BC—had risen from her long-forgotten tomb. Now, impossibly, she walked the streets of modern America, on her way to compete in the Miss Universe pageant.
Paul, a retired archaeologist in his fifties and now a government official overseeing Egypt’s pyramids, walked beside her. How she had returned, or how they had met, is a story for another time. What mattered was this: Nefertiti had sought him out to understand this new world—and had insisted he accompany her into it.
“It’s only a five-minute walk,” Paul continued. “Please stay close—the streets are crowded. Until now, you’ve seen everything through a screen. Today, you experience it.”
Nefertiti slowed, her gaze drawn upward. “Paul… those glowing panels—do they shine all day and night?”
“Yes,” he replied. “They’re advertisement screens.”
She smiled faintly. “No wonder the Sun God has lost his worshippers.”
Paul cleared his throat. “Madam, may I request something? During the contest, it would be best not to refer to… your time. The judges may not understand.”
Then, softening, he added, “Though truthfully, I never understood why you wished to enter such a contest. You are already timeless in your beauty. And to me, beauty is not merely appearance—it is confidence, kindness, a pure heart. You already possess it.”
They moved forward.
“Oh—careful, Madam,” Paul warned. “Construction ahead.”
Nefertiti observed the towering machines with fascination. “How remarkable. These giants have replaced men in such labor. Then surely suffering—cruelty, hardship—must have vanished.”
Paul’s expression dimmed. “We have advanced, yes. But not without cost. Look at the sky.”
A haze of black fumes stretched above them.
“This,” he said quietly, “is the price of our progress.”
He pointed ahead. “That building is a hospital. Those in pink are nurses and health workers. And beside it stands the National Museum. There is a sculpture inside—of you. Unearthed long after your time.”
Nefertiti paused, absorbing it all.
“Still,” Paul added, regaining composure, “you mustn’t lose focus. The contest spans three days—training, elimination rounds, and finally, one winner.”
Across the road, laughter echoed.
“Who are they?” Nefertiti asked.
“An under-eighteen soccer team,” Paul replied.
Her eyes lit up. “Girls… playing freely, in the open. How extraordinary. Women must be far more independent now. Stronger. In my time, I was never without my husband’s presence.”
She looked around again—this time, not as a queen observing, but as a soul awakening.
“You described this world to me, Paul,” she said softly, “but seeing it… is something else. It is vibrant. Alive. Beautiful in ways I never imagined. The art, the architecture, the towering buildings, the bridges… even the chaos—it has its own charm.”
She turned to him with quiet excitement. “We are early, aren’t we? May we stay a little longer?”
“Of course,” Paul said, offering her a drink. “It’s a warm day.”
They stood beneath a massive screen broadcasting a Presidents’ Meet.
“That woman,” Paul explained, “is the President. A leader of strength and empathy—respected across the world.”
Time seemed to slow.
Then, almost hesitantly, Nefertiti spoke again.
“Paul… may I tell you something?”
He nodded.
“I have been thinking… what if I do not attend the contest?”
He blinked, caught off guard.
“There is so much more here,” she continued. “So many paths I never knew existed. I could become a nurse… or a player like those girls… perhaps even a leader.”
She paused, her voice growing steadier, clearer—freer.
“For centuries, I have been remembered for my beauty. But perhaps… it is time to be remembered for something more.”
A gentle smile touched her lips.
“Imagine,” she said, “a new Nefertiti—defined not by how she looks, but by who she chooses to become.”
Paul stared at her, speechless.
For the first time since her return, the queen of beauty stood not as an icon of the past—but as a possibility for the future.