Chapter 6: Moist Eyes, Broken Dreams
The Valima—a day that is supposed to be a colorful and memorable milestone in any girl's life—was nothing less than a dark shadow for Shanze. It was held in an ordinary, dull community hall with yellowed walls and an atmosphere filled with a strange sense of suffocation instead of joy. There were no flowers, no special decorations. When Hammad Sahab and Shanze's grandmother entered the hall, their hearts sank at the sight of the disorganization and mismanagement. Was their princess-like daughter married into such a desolate and barren place? The dilapidated state of the hall screamed that Shanze's worth was not valued here; it was merely a ritual being fulfilled half-heartedly.
In the middle of the hall, Shanze sat on an old sofa like a prisoner. Her makeup looked less like the work of a professional parlor and more like the clumsy, cold-hearted artistry of an amateur. The cheap glitter of artificial jewelry failed to hide the paleness of her face or the sadness in her eyes, which were on the verge of overflowing with tears of fate. Most heartbreaking of all was the frock Shanze had been forced to wear; it was Nosheen's years-old dress, upon which Jameela had stitched a few sequins in a clumsy and hideous attempt to pass it off as new. However, the faded color and worn-out texture made it obvious that this was not a new bride's attire but someone's discarded clothing.
"When Jannat Bibi approached her beloved daughter, her heart wrenched at the sight of the agony and helplessness hidden in Shanze's eyes. She trembled with pain, seeing the mockery being made of her daughter. The girl, who had always worn branded and expensive clothes, sat silently today like a helpless puppet in a colorless, hand-me-down outfit. Arsalan—wearing the same old Prince coat from his first marriage that no longer even suited him—sat beside Shanze like a stranger. He neither sensed Shanze's pain nor felt any shame at the contemptible actions of his mother and sisters; he sat there like a lifeless entity."
Looking at the scattered utensils and the poor menu on the dining tables, tears welled up in Hammad Sahab's eyes. He began to weep for his daughter's fate. A simple curry and dry bread—it didn't look like the Valima of a wealthy man's daughter whose father had spent beyond his means. While Jameela, Shama, and their daughters had chosen the finest silk outfits for themselves, they had presented Shanze in a condition that evoked pity from everyone who saw her. Does marriage truly mean bringing a girl home only to sacrifice her to one's ego and greed?
"As the rituals and salami (gift-giving) began, a peak of hypocrisy was witnessed—one that only Jameela and her daughters could exhibit. They handed over gift money to Shanze as if they were large-hearted, yet their greedy eyes remained fixed on the cash, intending to snatch it as soon as they reached home. Their goal was merely to show off to the world, while in reality, they had already planned to pocket even the money received during the Nikah. Jameela wanted every minor expense of the Valima to be covered by Shanze's own savings, ensuring that not a single penny would burden their own pockets."
Jannat Bibi's restlessness grew, but Hammad Sahab's mother kept consoling her, saying that wealth isn't everything and character is what truly matters. She was still under the spell of Jameela's sweet talk, as Jameela moved around the hall, acting as if she would sacrifice her life for Shanze and keep her better than her own daughters. Hammad Sahab's mother felt that perhaps things weren't as bad as they seemed, unable to see through the veil of hypocrisy Jameela wore. Jameela's love and affection were mere shadows, intended to maintain their reputation before the in-laws and avoid any unpleasantness.
Shanze waited desperately for the ceremony to end. Her heart grew heavier with every passing moment, but she chose to remain silent. She didn't want to dishonor her family or make her father feel humiliated in front of Afzal Sahab, so she kept her lips sealed. She was absorbing the hypocrisy that Jameela and Shama had hidden, but her inner strength was repeatedly jolted. She wondered: would she also accept slavery in silence like Nosheen? Or would she expose their true faces to her family? These questions haunted her. Did Nosheen, Arsalan's first wife, go through the same treatment? Was Arsalan equally silent back then, draped in the cloth of compromise? Did Nosheen also bury her sobs within these walls? The thought terrified her; if Arsalan was quiet before, expecting a miracle from him now was like deceiving herself.
As the Valima concluded, everyone departed with a heavy heart and the weight of unspoken words. The hall lights were turned off one by one, and the darkness grew—just like the fog thickening over Shanze's future. Jameela had a triumphant smile on her face, while Arsalan still kept his eyes lowered. Shanze looked back one last time at her father leaving, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the new life where a new trial awaited her at every turn. Hammad Sahab's worried eyes followed his daughter; he sensed something was wrong, but his grandmother's reassurances forced him to stay silent. Shanze's heart was screaming that enough was enough, but would she be able to set a new course for her life, or would the cruelty of circumstances leave her helpless?
"What do you think Shanze should do now?"
The day that should have been full of happiness became a nightmare for Shanze. Will she continue to endure this silent oppression, or will she stand up for her rights? Read "Mera Hisar" and share your thoughts in the comments. Is Shanze's silence the calm before a storm?
Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The themes discussed are for storytelling purposes and do not intend to disparage any individual or community.
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Copyright © 2026 Ishrat Zahid (Ishrat Khanum). All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.