A Husband In Seven Day's

29 February 2004 I was sitting on the khat, quietly stitching a blanket, when a few unfamiliar people arrived at our house. Curious voices filled the courtyard, making me pause mid-stitch. I quickly got up and called for Baba so he could ask why they had come. Baba stepped outside and welcomed them warmly. After speaking with them for a while, he looked toward me and said, “Make some tea for the guests.” I silently nodded and went inside. A little later, after the tea was ready, I carefully carried the tray outside. Keeping my eyes lowered, I served everyone before hurrying back to my room. Not long after that, my family members began entering one after another—my uncle, aunt, Maa… and then finally my younger sister burst into the room with wide curious eyes. “Didi…” she asked excitedly, sitting beside me, “are you getting married?” I frowned in confusion. “What? No. Why are you asking something like that?” She leaned closer and whispered dramatically, “The people outside came with a marriage proposal for you.” For a second, I simply stared at her, unable to process her words. Before I could even say anything, my little cousin came running into the room. His eyes already looked watery as he held onto my arm tightly. “Didi… will you leave us after getting married?” he asked softly. A small helpless smile appeared on my face. “I don’t know,” I replied quietly. “Ask your uncle… my Baba.” Hours passed in discussions outside the room. I could hear faint conversations, the clinking of tea cups, and occasional laughter, but no one told me anything directly. Then finally, I learned the truth. Baba and my uncles had accepted the marriage proposal. And after exactly seven days— on Holi— I was going to get married.