Seher's p.o.v:

Life has always been unfair to me, from the moment I was born, my father didn't express his joy, he was disappointed. His first child was a girl, the disappointment stayed and my parents drifted apart. After that, I grew up in a sheltered environment, I was happy at that time. Because I hadn't tasted the freedom and lived my life on my terms, I was happy.  Until my sixteenth birthday when my cousin Zara was stoned to death. My father didn't even flinch when people threw stones at his niece, his blood sister's daughter. My aunt begged but my father stood his ground, she was crying, wailing, my world shook that day and I realised my life wasn't normal.

My poor sister died because she fell in love- they took her life only because she wished to pursue her dreams. Even animals protected their cubs and their family, but my father was the first one to pick a stone and he threw it at her, uncaring as I shielded her. The stone hit my head, and I lost consciousness. I knew this was a lesson for me, he wanted to tell me that if I followed my sister's footsteps, I would meet the same fate.

I walked around the village, to reach the lake, I wanted to see the dawn and breathe in fresh air to clear my mind. I stood there watching the sunrise and praying for a better future, wishing for an easier way out.

The morning sun cast a gentle golden hue over the village the familiar sights and sounds of the village greeted me—the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the soft hum of life awakening. As I strolled along the winding paths, I couldn't help but take in the state of my village.

My heart swelled with mixed emotions. The village, with its quaint charm, held memories of both comfort and constraint.

I passed by the group of small boys excitedly making their way to school, their satchels slung over their shoulders. Their innocence and enthusiasm tugged at my heart, a stark contrast to the harsh reality that often awaited them in adulthood.

As I observed them, I couldn't help but wonder if these young boys would grow up to perpetuate the same customs that had kept me confined for so long. My heart ached for the burden they might unknowingly inherit.

My gaze shifted to the women of the village, diligently going about their morning routines. I noticed one woman in particular, her eyes downcast as she carried a heavy load of firewood on her back. It was a sight I had witnessed countless times, a symbol of the burdens women in the village bore.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of solidarity with these women, knowing that I, too, carried my own set of expectations and responsibilities as a daughter in this conservative society.

As I returned home, the warm embrace of my mother provided solace. In my mother's arms, I felt safe, shielded from the outside world and its suffocating traditions. I clung to that feeling, knowing that it would sustain me in the challenging days ahead.

My mother, a village woman of few words, looked at me with a motherly warmth as she applied the fragrant oil to my hair. "Seher, my dear," she began, her voice soft and soothing, "I hope you remember, our village is where your roots are, where your heart belongs."

Her words resonated with me, a reminder of the complex web of love and duty that bound me to this place. "I know, Ammi," I replied, my voice filled with both gratitude and longing. "I cherish our mornings together. They are my anchor."

With a knowing smile, my mother continued to comb my hair, her hands moving gently through the strands. "Your father may have plans for you, but you have the strength to face whatever comes your way. Just like your grandmother and I did."

Her words, simple yet profound, carried the weight of generations of women who had faced the challenges of our society. I held onto her words like a lifeline, knowing that her wisdom would guide me through the turbulent times ahead.

___

The following morning, as the darkness of night slowly gave way to dawn, I awoke with a sense of trepidation. I knew that the day held a significant event—one that would alter the course of my life in ways I could not fully comprehend.

Moving quietly through the dimly lit house, I entered the hall with caution. My father's voice called out to me, and I peeked out from behind a large curtain, my eyes fixed on the ground. My father's disapproval of women engaging in conversation or making eye contact with men was well-known, and I had always adhered to this rule.

"Seher," my father's voice echoed in the room. "Bring two cups of tea."

I nodded, covering my head, and quickly set about preparing the tea. My hands trembled as I carefully arranged the cups and saucers on a tray. This was not a typical morning routine, and the anticipation weighed heavily on me.

Carrying the tray with the two cups of tea, I entered the room where my father had been hosting an unexpected guest. My gaze remained fixed on the floor as I approached the table. My father rarely entertained guests, especially ones that required my presence.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt the weight of someone's eyes on me, and my hands trembled, causing the tea cups to shake. I dared not look up, keeping my gaze firmly on the ground as I set the dishes on the table.

My father's voice broke the silence, and he introduced me with an unusual warmth in his tone, "This is Seher, my daughter."

My heart raced as my father's words registered. He had never introduced me to anyone before. The room felt suffocating, and I knew that this was not a typical visit. Slowly, I lifted my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.

Meeting the guest's gaze, I was met with a shock that sent waves of dread through me. It was the same man from the petrol pump—the man who had shot the poor woman by the roadside. Trauma replayed in my eyes as my hands continued to tremble. I could hardly breathe.

"This is the man you are to be married to," my father announced, his voice filled with a satisfaction I had never heard before.

My world began to unravel before my eyes as the reality of my situation sank in. The man who had committed a horrific act of violence, a man I had witnessed firsthand, was now to become my husband. The anxiety and dread built up inside me, threatening to consume me entirely.

With a forced smile, I whispered the customary greeting, "Assalamwalikum," and picked up the empty tray. Turning to leave the room, I couldn't escape the feeling that my life had taken an ominous turn, one that I was powerless to stop.

----

That night my mother's face wore a grave expression, and the weight of her silence seemed to echo the somberness of our dimly lit room. Night descended upon us like a shroud, and it was then that she passed me the ring—a delicate, ornate promise ring, a symbol of the destiny that had been chosen for me.

In our village, weddings were not drawn-out affairs. They were swift, a whirlwind of preparations that unfolded in a matter of days. The moment a groom's proposal was accepted, the relentless march toward marriage commenced.

"Ammi," I began, my voice quivering, "that man, he's just like Abba. He's capable of the same cruelty. He shot his sister, just as Abba did to Zara."

I buried my face in my mother's lap, seeking refuge from the turmoil of emotions and thoughts that swirled within me. Her embrace was the only sanctuary I knew, a place where I could momentarily escape the harsh reality of our lives.

She held my head tenderly against her chest, her gentle kisses falling upon my hair. "From the moment you were born, Seher, we all knew you would have the same fate as me," she whispered, her voice laden with sorrow.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke of Jahangir Shaikh. "He is neither a good father nor a good husband, Seher. In my eyes, he isn't even a man. A man's ego should never be so fragile that it is threatened by a woman's strength."

The bitterness in her words resonated with the harsh truth I had come to understand about my father—a weak man with an overpowering nature, incapable of love or any genuine emotion.

My voice trembled with anger and despair. "I wish I had no father at all. Why didn't he take my life when I was born? What's the use of poisoning me slowly?" The despair in my heart seemed to mirror my mother's desolation.

Her tears continued to fall, and her words were a lament for the future that loomed before me. "Seher, my dear, pray to Allah that your future isn't as dark as mine."

"But what future, Ammi?" I cried out, my voice breaking. "He is exactly like Abba. You know what's going to happen to me." The fate that awaited me, like the fate of every woman in our village, was a cruel cycle of servitude, suffering, and silence.

I had tasted a different life, one where women had rights, where their dignity and safety were paramount. It was a life far removed from the oppressive existence in our village. In the outside world, women were not treated as possessions or commodities. Their rights were not privileges; they were fundamental human rights.

My heart ached for the freedom I had experienced briefly, the life I had lived beyond the confines of this village. Here, every breath a woman took was unpredictable, every moment laden with uncertainty.

____

It was the next day, her hands shackled with jewellery and her face covered with the long ghungat. She sat on the long seat decorated with flowers, her house was decorated beautifully and she felt like a bride. Not a happy one, the green joda she wore, was for the haldi rasam. Her fingers adorned with rings and were bound by chudiyan.

Her bindi swayed and she wondered whom she had dressed up for, if this marriage had been of her choice or by her consent she would have been happy to feel like a bride. But this happy occasion reminded her of the days of freedom she had. The man she was going to marry was a monster, he had no compassion or sense of empathy. What scared her was, what if he was a sadist too? Some people enjoyed other's misery, his blood ran cold, and then she felt that exact person sitting beside her. She moved in the opposite corner, almost hanging off the edge of the sofa, his presence terrified her.

Her white hands clutched the green suit.  Trying to get some strength, she was falling weak, her fingers trembled and she wished she could smoke to calm down her nerves.

Seher had dreamt of a prince charming a gentleman, a person who loved her, whose presence brought her calm. She had wished for a normal man, Seher never cared about looks.

She measured her stakes, if this man realised she was scared of him, he would use that to dominate her. She couldn't afford that, Seher knew either way she would end up dead. But if remained strong there would be no regrets, squaring her shoulders, she knew she had to do what she wanted. Her father could kill her if he wanted, but she had decided that in hell too she would live on her terms.

Slowly she lifted the veil, the breath of fresh air came with anxiety, she looked around and sat boldly. Meeting the guest's eyes, revealing her face to the mass, she heard a gasp and then her eyes turned to the man sitting beside her.

He wore a white suit his face turned ugly as he glared at her, she had caused a commotion by breaking the custom. By not blindly following their ways Seher loved it. She wanted to be unpredictable, they had never anticipated this move from her yet she rebelled.

The grand house loomed, its imposing facade casting shadows that seemed to stretch out and embrace all who dared enter. As Saad's bold footsteps echoed through the marble-floored foyer, he bellowed, "Seher, come inside!" The very walls seemed to quiver with anticipation, as though they were sentient witnesses to the unfolding drama.

Inside, the atmosphere hung heavy with a potent mix of dread and curiosity. The guests, still abuzz from the spectacle outside, couldn't tear their eyes away from Seher's entrance. Their faces etched with judgment and fascination, formed a silent, judgmental chorus.

Saad's voice, sharp as a dagger, sliced through the suffocating silence. "Seher."

He stood near an ornate mirror, his piercing gaze locked onto her uncovered head, which defiantly met his with blazing eyes. Those eyes, like twin flames, taunted him with their challenge. As he advanced toward her, each deliberate step was a thunderous proclamation of his dominance. The weight of his slippers crashing against the polished floor seemed to threaten her very courage.

Seher's gaze darted around the opulent room, seeking something, anything to shield her from this immoral man. Her eyes fell upon a forgotten rod lying on the ground. She bent down to retrieve it, but before she could secure her makeshift protection, Saad's grip seized her. His eyes, now red with anger, bore into hers, and he nearly growled in her face.

"How shameless are you? The entire village saw my wife's face," he snarled, his words jabbing at her.

Suppressing a laugh, Seher defiantly retorted, "First, I am not your wife, and second, not only the village but the entire world has seen my face." Her time studying abroad had left her unburdened by the traditional ghungat.

Saad's audacity only fueled her resolve. "You dare to speak up, woman! My name is Saad Nawab Khan, the most respected man in this village. And you, a worthless being, dare to stand against me?"

Amused by his arrogance, Seher couldn't help but provoke him further. "But I am not going to respect you, and do they respect you?" Her question ignited a fury within him, causing his grip to tighten. He reached for his gun, pointing it menacingly at her head.

"Say another word," he threatened, "Shoot me. I am not scared of my death," she defiantly declared.

"You're a monster," Seher seethed, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her neck. "I am," he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine.

Just then, the room's heavy atmosphere shattered with the entrance of Seher's father. His face contorted with rage as he witnessed his daughter's defiant stance. Without a word, he raised his hand and delivered a stinging slap across Seher's face. Her teary eyes met her father's, a painful mixture of betrayal and desperation in her gaze.

Her father's thunderous voice boomed through the room as he screamed at her, "You dare defy our traditions, our family? You will pay for this!"

He didn't stop at one slap; he struck her again, the force of his anger leaving her cheek burning. "Set your ghungat properly and come outside," he ordered, his voice dripping with fury.