The handwriting on the page was tense, like the hand that wrote it was trembling.
"I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wall, and my heart couldn't believe what it had just heard."
"Mama stood in front of me, tears in her eyes—but not of regret... tears of relief, like they had finally 'put me back on the right path.'"
"They told me his name, his age, his job, his father's salary... everything about them, and nothing about me."
"Inside, I was screaming: I'm not ready… I don't want this… He's not for me."
"But my voice never came out."
Sherry felt every word like a stab. Not just because of Sherine, but because it felt like reading her own future... the same script, the same cage being prepared since she was a child.
"The wedding's in a month, girl. It's better this way. Everything will be fine."
"But me? I was disappearing."
"I started dressing like a 'bride.' A stiff white dress, clinging to my body as if they were trying to erase every trace of me."
"It wasn't a dress... it was a shroud."
The wedding day looked shiny from the outside… but inside, it was dark.
Everyone was dressed up, the music was playing, fake laughter echoed... and all they said was: "What a beautiful bride!"
But Sherine?
She stood in front of the mirror and couldn't see herself.
"They'd dressed me in a face that wasn't mine... the face of another girl, not Sherine."
Her mother entered, looked her up and down, and said:
"Smile. Let him see you pretty, so he won't change his mind."
But Sherine had already made up her mind.
As they walked into the hall, and all eyes were on her, Sherine stood still for a moment…
Then she started laughing.
A laugh that wasn't normal.
A loud… broken… mad laugh.
"I'm the bride? Me?!"
"Where's Yasmin? Isn't she the groom?"
"I'm not marrying anyone but her!"
The hall turned to chaos.
The guests fell silent.
The ululations stopped.
The groom stepped back.
Her mother tried to grab her arm, hissing:
"Don't disgrace us!"
But Sherine had already decided to expose them… Expose the silence, the oppression, the forced marriage.
She started dancing, threw her veil to the ground,
and shouted:
"I'm not a bride… I'm free!"
"I won't marry the one you chose!"
"I love… and it's not madness. But if freedom is madness, then yes—I'm mad!"
The groom, unable to look her in the eyes, turned to her father:
"I'm sorry… Your daughter's not right in the head."
"I can't go through with this."
And he left.
Leaving behind a heavy scandal…
That same night, people whispered:
"She's gone mad."
"Such a shame, she looked beautiful."
"I was going to ask for her for my son... what a waste."
"If they had raised her properly, she wouldn't have lost her mind."
After that… No one called her by her name again. She became "the crazy one." They locked the doors. Silenced her voice… But she had written enough.
They drove back home, silence heavy in the air.
She waited for one of her siblings to say:
"Stop, this is cruel. She's your daughter. Love her as she is..."
But none of them had the courage to stand for her.
The moment her mother shut the door, she raised her hand and slapped Sherine—without a word.
Her father stood nearby, eyes not weeping… but boiling.
He spoke, voice tight with rage:
"You humiliated us! Made us the town's joke!"
"This is marriage! Honor! Not a game!"
"You lied to us, acted insane in front of everyone, for a fantasy in your head?!"
"We should've pulled you out of school before your mind got corrupted!"
He turned to her mother:
"Lock her in. No more going out."
"No food without my permission!"
"No mirrors. No paper. No pens!"
"Why should she see herself? See what?"
They stripped her room.
Closed the window.
Took the dress, the bag—everything that proved she was still alive.
Even her name was banned… She became "the crazy one," not Sherine.
That night, she heard her mother whisper to her father:
"She needs a sheikh… or a psychiatrist… maybe a mental hospital!"
And her father replied:
"What can't be fixed with upbringing can be fixed with discipline. That girl won't drag us to hell."
Sherine was drowning in the silence of her room…
The walls echoed stillness, the air was suffocating, the light—gone.
Everything around her had died… even time.
Suddenly, the door creaked.
A small crack opened, and a dim light slipped in—like a thread of hope crawling through the darkness.
A small child entered…
Wide eyes, messy hair, no words spoken.
He approached her gently, as if his feet didn't touch the ground.
He looked at her and softly touched her trembling hand…
A quiet rhythm of comfort in the noise of pain.
He didn't ask.
And suddenly, when I looked into his eyes…
My breath caught.
There was something familiar—something that hurt.
A gaze that was broken, innocent… and defeated all at once.
And before my mind could speak, my heart already knew:
"That's Amir… cast out since the day he was born."
"Another victim… of my family's cruelty."