Dear Diary,

I’m writing today because I know there is no tomorrow. I am cognizant that my soul shall not witness bright mornings anymore; instead, I foresee them black. I also know that there will be no dawn to my life, and to be honest, I am scared. Thoughts inside me are roaring, and my heart beats fast but the victorious shield of my ribcage suffocates it, and kills it slowly, experiencing the pleasure. I’m writing today because I know tomorrow won’t be a normal day, I will die today. They who call themselves as my family shares a good part of my massacre, and I wonder why such brutality? Why isn’t anyone saying anything at all? At least something…

I guess I’m too young to understand the difference between a marriage and a wedding, or to be more precise, I don’t know what a marriage is. If it’s tying a knot with a man of my father’s age, then yes, I am getting married.

I’m engulfed in a red shalwar kameez, my brown colored eyes with black kohl, and palm of my hands have this not so pretty henna design on it. My eyes can’t bear the horror of that beastly, most overdressed man out there, and I’m sure he is the predator! He won’t kill me, but chew me slowly, and spit it out. He is the one to whom I shall return because there won’t be any escape. I stare at him wondering how ill-fated I’m. Yes, I am thirteen and a bride to be. In a few moments, I will belong to him! And to be honest, it’s frightening.

I have lost the power to witness my surrounding, with my heart sinking, my soul has surrendered. Today I feel ashamed of the gender I’m born with. Would things have been different if I were a boy? Am I a symbol of shame for my father? Are women born with a battle to fight with, and mine is just a different one?

Also, I have few dolls that my mom sewed for me, and I miss how we both used to play. Do I have to throw them away? But my dolls were due to get married next month. Can I still visit my friend who lives down the alley?

The qazi sahib just called in…



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