"I sit on the bed, my fists clenched so tightly around the blanket that my knuckles turn white. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. 'Why don't you understand?' I snap, my voice shaking with frustration. He's so mean to me! I don't like him—why would I even think about marrying him? I hate him!" I say, my voice filled with frustration. "Why do you and the rest of the family keep forcing me to consider this? Don't insist on something I don't want to do, and neither does he!" My sister sits across from me, examining my expression as I vent my frustration. A fifteen-year-old girl standing up for herself while everyone else seems to be acting stupid and deaf.
"Is it so hard to understand?" I ask her, my voice laced with frustration. "Or are my words just going over your head? We're too different, but the same in all the worst ways. I'm stubborn, and so is he. I have a temper, and he does too. Neither of us will ever make the first move."
"When two pots are kept together, they're bound to clash. I'll never like him, ever!" My voice rises as I try to make her take me seriously. But instead of arguing, she takes my hands in hers, brushing them gently, squeezing them in a way that's meant to make me feel secure, to make me trust her.
Suddenly, I feel my voice crack, the heat of anger rushing through my body. I'm on the verge of tears, but I don't let them fall. I just look at her, searching for empathy, wanting her to understand that I deserve to be heard. I'm something more than just an argument to be won. I'm human too, and I'm too young to be in the middle of this. I'm still growing, and I have the right to live like other teenage girls. Even though I'm not sure what other girls my age are doing, I know they're not in my shoes, fighting to get their own family to respect their opinions and perspectives on life.
She kept looking at me, and I waited, hoping she would say something that would calm the storm inside me, something that would soothe the tension in my chest. I wanted to feel like calm waves in the ocean, to release a breath of relief, to feel the weight of this frustration lifted. But instead of offering the peace I craved, she said something that only made it worse, something that made me feel even more trapped in my own life.
She slid her hand over my head, her touch gentle, her eyes soft with a kind of pity that makes my stomach churn. When she finally speaks, her voice is calm, almost soothing, but it's laced with a certainty that only deepens my frustration. "Everything will be alright after marriage," she says, as if she's explaining something simple, like how to tie your shoes. "You'll start liking him, you'll see. This happens in arranged marriages too. After the "Nikkah, the Islamic marriage ceremony", when you become his wife, you'll fall in love with him. It's by nature, not something in your hands."
She spoke of it as if it were a rule written in stone, something decided by God , who blesses the union of marriage and ensures that love will follow. "It's a barakah in nikkah,"she continued. "God loves the union of nikkah between His people, and that's why He showers His blessings on both of the spouses. Eventually, you'll fall in love with him, deeper and deeper."
Her words, meant to reassure, only filled me with more frustration and a deep sense of pity for myself. It was as if my feelings didn't matter, as if I had no control over my own life. Instead of feeling the calm I so desperately wanted, I felt even more suffocated by the expectations placed on me. It made me question why I was born into this household, why my life had to be shaped by decisions that felt so far out of my control.
As I listened to her, a sense of hopelessness washed over me. It felt like there was no point in arguing anymore, like my words were just being wasted. "Just be quiet, Meherjan," I thought to myself, "and listen." Her words were kind, especially when she spoke about God and His blessings, and I knew that what she was saying was true—at least in a general sense. But her words didn't fit my situation.
It was as if she was asking too much from me, a girl too young to truly grasp the seriousness of these things. All I knew was that I didn't like him—not in the way that would make me want to spend the rest of my life with him. That was the simple, undeniable truth that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I tried to see things from her perspective.
There's a deeply ingrained belief among our people that goes, "When their own is in trouble, they keep them in the shade, but when it's someone else, they leave them out in the sun." This saying reflects the idea that marrying within the family or within close circles is safer, while marrying outside of it is seen as risky. It's a notion that's passed down from generation to generation, especially among the women. From an early age, girls are taught to internalize this belief, almost as if it's written into their minds.
This belief shapes the way families think about marriage, with a strong emphasis on keeping things "safe" by staying within familiar circles. The idea is that marrying within the family ensures protection, understanding, and shared values, while marrying outside introduces uncertainty and potential conflict. For many, this is less about love or compatibility and more about maintaining a certain kind of security and control.
Exactly! It's frustrating and disheartening to see how some people try to justify staying within the family for marriage as a way to "soften" potential mistreatment. The idea that if you marry within the family, any mistreatment will be gentler is absurd and deeply problematic. It completely misses the point that no one should be mistreated at all, regardless of who they marry.
Instead of focusing on these outdated ideas, the real conversation should be about teaching both boys and girls to value, respect, and love their partners. It's not about who you marry—whether they're a relative or not—but about the kind of person they are. We should be raising our children to understand that marriage is a partnership between equals, based on mutual respect and kindness, not control or dominance.
By teaching young people to marry a good human being rather than worrying about keeping things "safe" within the family, we're promoting healthier, happier relationships. It's about breaking the cycle of harmful traditions and ensuring that love, respect, and humanity are at the core of every marriage.
And that's the thing my sister was taught too—she also believes that the myth about marriage within the family is safe for a girl. But it didn't apply to her because she had already fallen in love before anyone could brainwash her mind.
As I tried to avoid arguments and distance myself from the idea of liking him, things only got worse. My silence was mistaken for acceptance, and before I knew it, the women in our families—my sister, two of my aunts, Muazam's grandmother, his mother, and even his older brothers—had concocted a plan to match us together. They began to talk about us as if it were a foregone conclusion that we would end up married.
What was most frustrating was that neither my parents nor his father, nor my brothers, had any clue about this. They were completely unaware of the whispers and the plotting going on behind their backs. Even Muazam's sister seemed to have some knowledge of it, but she dismissed it, either because she wasn't interested or perhaps because she didn't believe it would actually lead anywhere. After all, Muazam's father was a strict man, and Muazam is the apple of his eye. It seemed unlikely that such a significant decision would be made without his direct involvement.
But that didn't stop the others from dreaming up their own version of our future, and in doing so, they were making things worse for me. Every time I avoided speaking up, it felt like I was being pushed further into a corner, trapped by expectations I never agreed to.
Whenever there was an event or occasion in our family, the older members loved to tease me by mentioning Muazam's name. It was annoying, sometimes unbearable, and I often found myself changing my place just to avoid their taunts. It became a pattern—whenever they started, I would quietly slip away, avoiding being in the same place as him.
But one day, they took their teasing to another level. During a family celebration, we visited Muazam's house, which was in a different area, a bit far from ours. His family was distributing kheer—a traditional sweet dish—to their neighbors, and all the younger kids in our family were assigned the task of delivering it. The group included me, Muazam, his younger brother Hakan, and my younger brother Alim. Since we were younger than most of the other kids, we were grouped together, making us the targets of some playful scheming.
Muazam's older brother, Umais, decided to split us into teams. Knowing my reluctance to be around Muazam, I naturally chose to team up with my brother. But, as if fate had other plans, Alim didn't want to team up with me—he wanted to be with Hakan instead. It was clear this was a setup, a trap laid out by Umais, who laughed mischievously, clearly pleased with his little scheme. Reluctantly, I ended up having to go with Muazam to distribute the kheer, even though I didn't know the neighbors, while he did.
As we walked together in awkward silence, neither of us spoke a word. We both took big, hurried steps, trying to rush through the task and get back home as quickly as possible. I glanced at him, trying to gauge who he really was. He wasn't much taller than me, just a few inches. He wasn't particularly handsome by conventional standards, but then again, at that age, we didn't really care much about grooming or appearance. We didn't worry about things like hairstyles that suited our face shapes, or what kind of clothes flattered our bodies. We were still kids, more concerned with feeling comfortable than with how we looked.
As I walked beside him, matching his steps, I couldn't help but wonder if I could give him a chance. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as bad as I had assumed. Perhaps there was something about him, something that wasn't obvious at first glance, that I could come to like if I let myself. The thought of finding some comfort in his presence was tempting, even if I wasn't ready to admit it yet.
But no, I quickly shrugged off those thoughts and forced myself to come back to reality. I was letting myself get pulled into the fantasy they'd created for me, letting emotions cloud my judgment. I reminded myself, "Don't make decisions driven by emotions; make them with full awareness and a clear mind."
As soon as I realized what was happening, I quickened my pace, taking bigger steps and moving as fast as I could. I left Muazam behind, not caring about what he might be thinking, what kind of faces he was making, or whether he'd figured out that I'd just had a moment of insanity. All I wanted was to disappear—if only for a moment—from the life they were trying so hard to force me into.