I sit before the mirror, combing my hair. The curtains in the room sway to the rhythm of the northern wind, carrying the waves of my hair in every direction. As I look at the color of my own hair, I am reminded of the bride; it was the exact same shade as mine. Their wedding ceremony was yesterday—a gathering completely unlike any other. In the midst of the soaring sounds of celebration and dancing, Uncle Qadir entered the hall to perform the traditional ritual, the ravaj, of fastening his daughter’s belt. With a face etched with sorrow, my uncle approached the bride and prepared to tie her sash. I will never forget those moments; they were minutes weighted with unbearable gravity. Seeing a father whose tears streamed down his face as he fastened his daughter’s belt was agonizing. The bride dropped her bouquet, sought refuge in her father’s embrace, and they wept together. My eyes recoiled from the sight. The voices of her younger sisters also rose in protest, insistently asking the groom’s family, “Where are you taking our sister?”

The sound of the music and celebration struggled against the cries of the little girls. Everyone held their breath, staring in shock at the child bride. Once again, the bride broke down in tears and clutched her sisters close. This somber scene showed the true, bitter reality of separation for people who share such deep, sincere affection. The noise and weeping completely transformed the atmosphere. Suddenly, the groom’s father arrived. He placed his hand on the bride’s father’s shoulder with a happy smile and said: “Today is a day for joy, music, and celebration—not wailing and mourning!”

He then turned to his new bride and commanded: “Enough! Stop crying now!” He took her hand, seated her in the car, and they left.

This is a memory I will never forget: seeing those tears, that heartbreaking longing, and a young girl who is far too small to be a mother! The image of the tearful eyes of a girl my own age haunts me. When I think of those moments, a wave of despair washes over me. I fear that if two or three more girls this young are forced into marriage, this injustice will eventually become a normalized custom (rasm-o-ravaj) in my country, and all girls will be reduced to simple housemaids and mothers in their adolescence. My deepest fear is the day when women are seen only as beings created for housekeeping.

The memory of that heartbreaking scene and the fears that have taken root in my heart have stolen my sleep. I think to myself that before my nightmare becomes reality, I must make a decision. I must encourage the women of my country to pursue education and gain awareness. I can save them. I must continue, with the help of my friends, the activities we do to empower and educate our mothers. We must prove to all oppressors and tyrants that truth will always triumph over falsehood! This phrase is not just a slogan to me; it is a profound belief.