The Strict Mother And The Daughter's Trial

Chapter 1: The Prison Called Home My name is Ayesha. I am 20 years old. But it feels like I have been imprisoned in the same room for 20 years. The name of that room is "Home." And the key to this prison is with my mother. Mother. Just saying that word makes me shiver. There is no need to take her name. The whole neighborhood knows what kind of woman lives in that house. Loud voice, sharp tongue, and walls of principles harder than bricks. A woman who believes that a daughter’s job is to be seen as little as possible and heard even less. "Ayesha! Bring the tea. And hurry. The guests are coming." My mother's voice comes from downstairs and hits my ears like an arrow. I close the book. This is my only friend. I secretly brought it from the university library. It's a novel about a girl who runs away to chase her dreams. If Ammi finds out, she will tear it to pieces. She will say, "What does a girl need to read novels for? What does a girl need to study so much for? Your place is in the kitchen." I go to the kitchen. I make tea. My hands are shaking. Last night Ammi checked my phone again. She went through every app. Every chat. Every photo. A boy from university had messaged about an assignment. Just "Can you send me the notes for Chapter 4?" That was it. For that small thing, I got a 2-hour lecture. "Aren't you ashamed? What will people say? You will ruin my izzat? Is this what I taught you? Talking to boys? Do you want me to die of shame?" "People." This is the center of Ammi's life. What will people say. What will people think. We live for people. Not for ourselves. Our happiness, our dreams, our pain... nothing matters. Only what the neighbors, the relatives, the "log" will say. I take the tea tray to the drawing room. The guests have arrived. Khala and her daughter Maryam. Maryam is two years younger than me. But she is already married. In a big house. With a car. With servants. With a husband who lets her post pictures on i********:. Ammi glares at me. As if she is saying "Look and learn. This is what you should be." "Oh Ayesha beta, how are you?" Khala asks with a fake sweet smile. "I am fine, Khala." My voice becomes low. I hate how small my voice sounds. "How is your studies going?" Maryam asks. She knows the answer. She knows Ammi will answer for me. Before I can open my mouth, Ammi speaks up. "She gets free time from housework, then she studies. What does a girl need to study so much for? In the end she has to manage a house anyway. Degrees don't make good wives." I lower my head. I pour the tea. My hands shake again. Some tea spills from the cup onto the tray. "Are you blind?" Ammi whispers, but her anger is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Go to the kitchen and bring a cloth. Useless girl." I get up and leave. There are tears in my eyes. But I cannot cry. Ammi says, "Why cry and show people? Have some shame. Go to your room." Standing in the kitchen, I take a deep breath. On top of the cupboard, hidden behind old Qurans, is my admission form. For Masters in Literature. I even got a scholarship. Full fee. But Ammi doesn't know. If she finds out, she will burn it. She will say education makes girls arrogant. "Baba," I think. If only Baba were here, he would talk. Baba understood me. He used to say "Beta, parho. Apne paon par khari ho." But Baba left 3 years ago. Heart attack. Suddenly. On the way to the hospital. After that day, Ammi became even stricter. She says, "Now the izzat of this house is in my hands. I can't let your father down." As if controlling me is the only way to honor Baba's memory. In the evening the guests leave. Ammi's mood is still bad. She is angry that Maryam's husband came to drop her. "Dekho kitna izzat deta hai. Tumhe bhi aisa hi milega." "Listen," Ammi calls me later at night. "The rishta people are coming next week. To see you for marriage." The ground slips from under my feet. The cup in my hand almost falls. "What rishta, Ammi?" "What rishta? Your rishta. You have grown up. 20 years old. Will you just keep sitting? The boy is good. He has business. His own house. Family is respectable. He will keep you with izzat." "But Ammi, my studies. My Masters. I want to..." *Slap* The sentence doesn't finish. Ammi's hand lands on my cheek. Everything goes dark in front of my eyes. The sting is familiar now. "You talk back? After everything I do for you? I have made the decision. That's it. In this house, my word is the final word. Understood? Don't make me repeat myself." I nod. Tears fall silently. Yes, I understood. In this house, I have no choice. I have no voice. I have no life. I am just a daughter. A responsibility. A name to protect. At night I go to the roof. It’s the only place I can breathe. I look at the sky. The stars seem to mock me. "You get free too. Why are you stuck?" I take out my phone. There is a message in the university group. "Ayesha, there is a presentation in class tomorrow. Your name is on the list. Professor is asking for you." I type a reply. "I will be there." Then I delete it. What if Ammi checks my phone tonight? What if she sees? From downstairs I hear Ammi's voice. "Ayesha! Aren't you sleeping yet? Turn off the light. Who will pay the electricity bill? And don't be on that phone all night." I turn off the light. I lie down in the dark on my single bed. The room smells of old books and fear. One question keeps coming to my heart, stabbing me again and again. Am I really the daughter of this house? Or just a thing to protect izzat? A trophy to show relatives? A problem to be married off? I remember when I was 10. I won first prize in a drawing competition. I drew a bird flying free. Ammi tore the drawing. "Girls don't draw. Girls cook." I remember when I was 15. I got 95% in exams. I wanted to celebrate. Ammi said "That's it? My neighbor's daughter got 96%. Don't get proud." I remember when I was 17. I fell in love with poetry. Ammi found my notebook. She burned it in the kitchen sink. "This will make you soft. Soft girls get ruined." Every dream, every small win, every piece of me... crushed. Slowly. For 20 years. I close my eyes. Tomorrow is another new day. A day of Ammi's rules. A day of me staying silent. A day of wearing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. But in some corner of my heart there is a small spark. A tiny, stubborn flame. It says, "Fight Ayesha. Fight for your life. For Baba. For that 10 year old girl who drew a free bird." I don't know if I will be able to fight or not. I don't know if I am strong enough. But tonight, for the first time, I don't pray to be a good daughter. Tonight, I pray to be a free one. (To be continued...) --- **Author's Note:** New chapter daily at 10:00 PM. Stay tuned for Part 2 - "The Rishta Day"