That was until the day I swore to leave and never come back,
When he beat me and slapped me across my face,
Because we got into a heated argument.
My body bruised and bled.
gender violence, marriage, divorce, physical violence

She’ll welcome you with a wide smile: “Hair or beard?”
Then she will burst out laughing: “We’re barbers too, but female barbers!”.
Most probably this is how you’ll get to know Hayam, through her “hair or beard” question.
She won’t care if this is your first time or your hundredth.

Don’t shame us.
Do you understand? Don’t you understand?
The towels.
The sheets.

"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.”

I used to love someone.
We worked together.
I really admired his personality.
He asked for my hand in marriage,
But my parents rejected him,
Because he was from a different social class.
I had a feeling he was ambitious,
And that he’d amount to something.
When we were engaged,
He was always concerned with the apartment,
And getting it ready.

I work in the field of life coaching and training.
I’m not from Cairo.
I’m from Upper Egypt,
From Minya specifically.
I came here alone.
Meaning I left behind my family—
And I come from a big family—
And my job, life, and friends.
And I’m a sociable person,
And I like maintaining close relationships with people.
So, my family and friends mean the world to me.

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

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.