Months had passed since Baba (Father) left this world.
Zoya's life had quieted on the surface, but inside her heart, the silence only grew heavier.
That day, her cousin Pashma had been at their house since morning with her mother. Zoya never liked her much — her way of speaking always felt a little cutting, a little sharp — so usually, she kept her distance. But this week was different. Pashma's wedding was just a week away, and Zoya could not avoid her. The whole day had gone in family chatter, and by evening, Zoya finally slipped away to her own room.
She sat at her study table, leaning back in the chair, scrolling absently through her phone. The dim glow of the screen lit her tired face when suddenly her door creaked open.
It was Pashma.
"Again? Just now you were busy with Mothers, talking endlessly about your wedding," Zoya said with a faint smile. "Come in, Pashma. I thought you were still busy with her, that's why I came to my room."
Pashma came near to Zoya, leaning over curiously.
"What are you watching? Let me see. Oh… really? You like this group too?"
Zoya quickly locked her phone, her expression firm.
"Forget it. I was just scrolling, and the video came up. I stopped for a moment, that's all."
Pashma shrugged dramatically. "Fine, leave that. I just came from sitting with our mothers. Guess what? They're talking about your marriage."
"What?" Zoya blinked, taken aback. "My marriage? Why?"
A deep ache stirred in her chest. "It's only been a few weeks since Baba passed away… and already they're speaking of my marriage?"
Pashma tilted her head, her tone dripping with mock sympathy.
"Oh come on. Marriage happens for everyone. You're not so different. Almost all the girls your age are married now. In fact, even most of the younger ones have settled down. Do you really think it's strange that they're thinking about yours?"
Her teenage-like sarcasm pierced Zoya's heart. She lowered her gaze, her voice soft.
"But I have dreams, Pashma. I shared them with Baba too. He told both my brothers to support me… to listen to what I wanted, to help me fulfill it."
Pashma laughed harshly.
Zoya looked up, startled, feeling the sting of that mocking laugh.
"What do you mean?"
Pashma folded her arms, leaning back with a smirk.
"Dreams don't matter. You've studied enough — what else do you want? Don't take this wrong, but you're already twenty-eight. If you wait two or three more years, proposals will stop coming. Then you'll have to accept whatever comes along."
Her voice grew sharper, every word pressing into Zoya's heart like a thorn.
"And you know what? Even then, you won't be getting handsome bachelors. You'll be left with men who already have kids, or some divorced man, or maybe a widower desperate to find anyone. That's your future."
She let her gaze sweep over Zoya from head to toe, her mouth twisting into a mocking smile.
"Honestly, do you even think you're the type men line up for? You're not tall — just five feet. You're not exactly slim, not exactly fat — just somewhere in between. And your skin? Dusky, not bright. Girls with shining fair skin get rejected sometimes — and you think you'll be chosen? No way. Even your features… too plain. Nothing striking."
(But the truth was nothing like what Pashma described. Zoya was not dusky; her skin held a soft natural glow. Her face was beautiful in its own quiet way, her features balanced and delicate. She had large expressive eyes with long lashes, and her hair fell gracefully just below her shoulders. She was neither skinny nor overweight, but healthy and well-shaped. She always dressed with care, carried herself with dignity, and maintained her appearance in a graceful, modest style. Pashma's words came not from truth, but from jealousy and spite)
Zoya pressed her lips together, her breath trembling. She had endured insult after insult, but this pierced too deep. She looked at her cousin, her voice steady yet filled with hurt.
"You are cruel, Pashma. Your words are more brutal than any wound. Doesn't your conscience stop you from speaking like this, from breaking someone's heart? I don't want marriage right now — that's final. As long as I don't want it, no one can force it on me. Your wedding is happening, isn't it? You're fair-skinned, you're happy — so enjoy your life. But stop interfering in mine. I can take care of myself."
Pashma laughed again, a sharp, mocking laugh.
"No prince is coming for you, Zoya. Forget this silly dream of going abroad. It will never happen. Even if — by some miracle — your family agreed, where would the money come from? Have you ever thought about that? Stop dreaming. Wake up. Marriage is the only safe path for you."
For a moment, Zoya felt as if someone had shaken her awake, pulling her out of a fragile dream. But instead of breaking, she straightened her back.
"Leave," she said quietly, her voice firm though her heart ached.
Pashma smirked as she walked to the door. "Fine, I'll leave. But let's see how you ever manage to step out of this house, let alone go abroad."
Her mocking laugh lingered in the air even after she disappeared, leaving the room heavy with silence.
Zoya turned her face toward the corner, tears stinging her eyes but refusing to fall. In her chest, a whisper of strength rose: Baba(Father), I will live with dignity. I will not let their words define me.
Her fear was not baseless. Something was indeed about to happen.
Days slipped by. After that argument with Pashma, no one in the family mentioned marriage in front of Zoya. She began to think maybe Pashma had misunderstood, maybe it was only a false alarm. She even convinced herself of it — but it was only her wishful thinking.
Because three month after Baba's passing, one evening, while Zoya sat in her room searching online for universities and scholarships in South Korea, her nephew Musa entered.
"Aunt, Grandma is calling you," he said.
"Okay, I'm coming. You go ahead," she replied with a smile, pulling him close for a kiss on the cheek. She didn't know that this smile would be her last carefree smile in her own home.
After Musa left, she closed her laptop, picked up a pack of chips, and walked toward her mother's room.
"Mom, did you call me?" she asked lightly as she stepped inside. But her curiosity rose at once — her mother wasn't alone.
Zoya paused, her gaze moving across the room. Her two brothers sat with their wives. Her elder sister had come too, unexpectedly. Her uncle (mother's brother) was there with his wife, and so was her maternal aunt.
A strange chill ran through Zoya. She wasn't a teenager anymore. She knew what it meant when elders gathered like this and called her in. This wasn't a casual family sitting.
And at that moment, she realized — Pashma hadn't misunderstood. The misunderstanding was hers. She had been comforting herself in false hope, while the truth was right here in front of her.
Her chest ached with a deep longing for Baba(Father). If only he were still here. But he wasn't. And she couldn't break down in front of everyone, no matter how much her heart cried.
And yet, she also couldn't give them what they wanted — because now she had seen a dream. And once a dream is born, it refuses to be buried.
Her dream was never just a dream. It was a life she longed to live, the very life she had been praying for over the past three years.
Watching that video in front of her Baba(Father), then listening to his voice—it reminded her of the moment three years ago when she had chosen her Father and even now she would choose him again. Yet, she could not forget the tear-filled eyes she had carried all these years. She rarely used her phone anymore, because her heart was never in her control.
One evening, she had softly asked her Baba(Father), "You are close to our Creator… will you pray for your daughter's peace?"
And her Baba did. He prayed for Zoya's peace until sleep gently overtook him.
But Zoya never stopped praying. In every salah, her lips carried the same plea:
اللَّهُمَّ اهْدِه، واغْفِرْ لَه، وارْحَمْه، وَاجْعَلِ الإيمَانَ فِي قَلْبِهِ نُورًا وَهُدًى
Allāhumma ihdihi waghfir lahu warḥamhu waj'alil-īmāna fī qalbihi nūran wa hudā.
(O Allah, guide him, forgive him, have mercy on him, and place in his heart the light and guidance of faith.)
Zoya had sacrificed her dream once—for her Baba. She loved him so deeply that even the thought of leaving him alone was unbearable. But now, her Baba existed only in memories, and before her stood the same dream again, calling her toward a path she could no longer ignore.
To be Continue...
Regards
ZK💌