It was the summer break of year seven.
I was on the beach with my parents and relatives.
I saw him trying to get closer.
There was nothing I could do though.
After a while I went for a walk. 
He followed me and then his mom called on me and asked “what year are you in?” 
“I am in year seven”

After 12 days of marriage,
Full of hitting, swearing, and being rude,
I called his brother.
He told me the same old garbage:
“He’s young. He’ll change. Be patient.”
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, addiction, marriage, divorce, social stigma

Why can’t we publish the story?
It doesn’t have any profanity in it.
“Doesn’t it mention extramarital sexual activity?”

“May you never experience loss again,”
She said to me.
I love it when someone tells me that.
Loss is such a heart-wrenching experience.
romantic relationships, marriage

I used to always watch her from the examination room window in the government hospital that I worked at.
Her name was Sokkara. She was young. She couldn’t be older than 13 years old.

"How’s your love life?” she asked.
I forced a laugh.
The question embarrassed me.
She insisted that I was a romantic and that apparently my whole family were romantics.
"You know,” she began, “if you want to get married, I could bring you a lot of suitors to meet.”

Unlike most girls, I never had any expectations or dreams about my wedding night. Nor did I exert any effort to think of what would happen once I was alone with my husband—whom I hardly knew—for the first time.

“How are you, Ms. Souad?”
“I’m fine.”
“So, what degrees do you have?”
“I’ve got a degree in social services, and I’m currently working on my masters in community development. I’m supposed to finish this year.”
social pressure, marriage, arranged marriage, parents