Its Elementary, My Dear Watson.

by:Rahil Shahril

There has been a massacre in a nightclub in Istanbul where dozens have lost their lives and it
seemed that ISIS claimed responsibility,

attack? I thought while having breakfast in a nearby bistro. Watching the families of the
Another
victims crying and calling out their loved ones names, reluctantly letting go of the coffins and
having someone slowly pulling them away made me lose my appetite. I pushed my plate slightly
forward when a mother could not handle her emotions on losing her son and if that were my
mother, I would vow on haunting the gunman for the rest of his life for the pain he caused my
mother. My head could not fathom the heinous acts The Islamic State proudly committed and I
wondered when would be their stopping point? When are they going to be fully satisfied with the
body count?

I sipped the remainings of my coffee and pulled out a $10 bill and place it on the counter. I had
to go somewhere else because if I had to stay and listen to this sad news any longer, I would
literally develop a need to punch someone that has an olive skin tone and calls themselves
Abdullah or Karim or Farouq. I could not help myself but to contemplate every time I come face
to face with a Muslim, either man or woman. As come to my dismay, the second I pushed the
bistros door, I was taken aback by the sight of a pair of brown eyes.

Im sorry, after you, she smiled and motioned her hands to give way for me to walk through.
Usually, I would smile, thanked her but insist on letting her go first while I hold the door but

since my frustrations towards her people is newly lit, I took her offer and walked pass by her
without saying a word. As I want to get on with my life, I heard her voice, louder than the first
time. Excuse me, is this $5 bill yours?, I turned around to see that she was picking up
something from the floor and walking towards me. Seeing her head wrapped in a light peach
scarf, is this yours?, she asked again, widening her brown eyes. I shook my thoughts off and
immediately putting both of my hands in my jeans pockets. I did not bring my wallet because I
was just planning on having a relaxed Sunday breakfast and head home so I just pulled out some
money and chunked it into my pockets. Yeah, its mine, I took the bill from her and I muttered,
thanks. She smiled again before turning her back on me, no problem. I looked at her walking
into the bistro and taking a seat by the window. Why was she nice to me? Is it all just an act to
cover-up their true monstrous self?

I climbed onto my car and as I put my keys into the ignition, I saw some kids ran into her but she
just smiled and let those kids run through before she places herself at a booth beside the window.
I rolled my eyes, thinking that her kindness is nothing but a facade and she might have a sick
agenda up her sleeve, despite how harmless she looks. Nonetheless, I do not know why but the
more I look at her, my anger started to fade but I shook my head instantly, reminding myself not
to fall into her trap. She might be more than she portrayed to be. I let my mind wandered on the
possibilities that she could be involved with all these extremists attacks and thinking that shes
superior from the rest of us just because we do not share the same faith and beliefs. I look away
disgustingly once I saw her sharing laughs with the waitress and assuming that she would pull a
trigger to the waitresss head if she were to find out that the waitress spends her Friday nights at
Blue Eyes.

Suddenly my heart felt as if it was pulled down to my knees by my moral conscious, oh my God,
what in the world am I doing? I thump my hands onto the steering wheel and look up at the roof
of my jeep. My parents raised me better than this, I let my emotions took over my head and
blindly judged that girl for being a killer. That was a bold accusation and a simply unfair one at
that. I would be seriously pissed if anyone simply accuse me for being a part of the KKK, or
more likely I would curse my might to whoever dares to do so. I should apologize, I sighed
deeply. Even though she did not know what went through in my mind but for the sake of
redeeming myself, apologizing might seem the only way to release my guilt. She might find me
weird for popping out of nowhere and saying sorry to her but I made a grave mistake, it doesnt
matter if Im the only one who knows about it. I still did her wrong. Taking a deep breath, I
pulled my keys out of the ignition and made my way back into the bistro. I entered the bistro and
nervously smoothen my shirt with my hands, walked to her booth and I stood. She seemed
startled by my presence and put one of her hands on her chest. She looked at me awaiting for me
to speak but I cant seem to form a sentence. I looked at her for a second before changing my
gaze onto the floor, and looking back at her once again and back to the floor.

This should be easy, but why am I having a hard time to do it? Yeah?, she looked at me with
concern in her big brown eyes. This is my chance, I should just spit it out. I would appreciate an
apology any time of the day, especially nowadays.Im sorry, I said softly under my breath.

For?, she questioned. Alright, how am I supposed to answer this? I felt my palms sweating.
She threw me a smile and said, would you like to sit here with me?.

What?, I was shocked. I said, would you like to sit here with me?, I do not have the words to
excuse myself from there so I slide my body into the booth and sit right in front of her.
Would you like coffee? Long black, I presume?, she puts her finger onto her lips, trying to
guess my coffee order but I raised my hands instantly, no, its fine. I already had my coffee.
Thank you. Are you sure?, she asked and I nod my head.
She feed herself the soup of the day and asked, so mind reminding me what you did to me?
Have we met before? Except a few minutes ago outside the bistro, her playful smirk loosened a
little of my nerves. I swallowed, trying to form words to not make myself sound like an
insufferable racist.

I watched the families that were left behind because of the Istanbul bombing, it got me all fired
up and, I could not raise my eyes to her level as I felt so ashamed of my close-minded
behaviour.

I did not finish my sentence as I do not know how.

Oh, she muttered. As I lift my gaze, I could see her eyes glued on her soup, not moving an
inch. Im sorry I judged you, I know you did not actually hear me said it but, I thought about it
and all I could think of was my parents raised me better and, then I heard her chuckling.

Im sorry, I did not mean to laugh at you, she apologized while one hand mid-covering her
mouth from laughing. What is so funny?, I asked innocently. She looked at me and sighed
smilingly, Im actually glad, too glad that I laughed. I gave her a confusing look because
shouldnt she be furious? I would be.

Oh no, Im not glad that you judged me for being part of the Islamic State but Im glad that you
apologized because you thought of your parents, she explained and I scratched the back of my
neck, feeling unsure on what to feel about that.

Maybe this would come as a shock to you but I share the same view on the matter. Im angry
too, beyond words, she pierced her hands upwards and lift her head, rolling her eyes towards
the sky. If you say so, how can you still have faith if their acts ruin families? Taking innocent
lives? Making the world not a safe place anymore?, I did not know what came over me but I
had to know. I want to understand.

She looked at me with disgust and honestly, I do not blame her. I was questioning her life
choices like an old man questioning a teenagers sense of style. She rest her elbows on the table
and extend her point finger at my direction. Whats your name?. Watson, I answered.

Okay, Watson. How much do you know about Islam?, she asked me and I honestly answered,
not a lot. Like you, they do not know about it as much as you do, she answered with a
distinguished tone.
You want to know something, Watson? Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon him, have
faced many difficulties in his days. A big part of the community was against his teachings on
Islam and they treated him badly. There was one time, the non-believers placed poop on his head
while he was praying, she explained. I can feel my mouth opening from shock of the cruelty,
Thats awful! What did he do then? Did he beat them up or throw another pile of poop back at
them?.

The girl chuckled and shook her head at the same time, no, he did not. She continued, he did
not do anything except pray to God and acknowledging His wisdom on replying back the
non-believers act as He sees fit. Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon him, has never shown
anything but kindness as he even released hostages from wars that he won when the norm of that
time would be taking those hostages in as slaves.

Wow, I muttered under my breath. But logically, how are you so certain that kindness trumps
the Islamic States violence?, I genuinely asked. I have faith in God and Prophet Muhammads
teachings, may peace be upon him. Money does not bring world peace, nor even power. But I
believe small acts of kindness such in our everyday life could make this world less insufferable
than yesterday, if God willing. When you think about it, it doesnt hurt to be nice. Its simply
elementary, my dear Watson, she expressed her beliefs and methods with a happy large grin on
her face.

Even you made the world a little better when you walked in here and apologized for being
judgemental towards me, she continued and that remark curved my lips into a small smile.
Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon him, sounds like a very noble person. A glimpse of the
teachings of Islam and Prophet Muhammad got me intrigued and I want to ask more but she was
already looking at her watch and grabbed her purse, Im sorry, Ive got to go. It was very nice
talking to you, she smiled.

But then she turned around and tossed another of her lovely smile, see you around.I could feel
a tint of red heating up my cheeks, hoping that I could share a conversation once more with her.
As soon as she left, I realized that I learned two things.

One, a little kindness goes a long way and second, she shares the same love for Sherlock as my
mum, hence where I got my name.