I grew up in a small village, surrounded by the sounds of birds, dusty narrow roads, and the constant chatter of neighbors who never seemed to mind their own business. Our family was neither rich nor poor—we belonged to the quiet, unnoticed middle class. We lived simply, appreciated what we had, and tried every day to stay out of trouble.
But trouble rarely avoided us.
Our neighborhood was… loud. Arguments broke out over the smallest things—bamboo sticks placed on the wrong side, misplaced sandals outside someone's door, water buckets forgotten near the tube well. The neighbors argued loudly, almost every day, without shame or pause. It was as if quarrels were part of their identity. And slowly, those fights started to affect our peace.
I still remember the evenings when my father came home tired from work, hoping to rest, only to hear two neighbors screaming like enemies at war. My mother would sigh and close the windows to avoid listening. My brothers would shake their heads. As time passed, we stopped opening our front door unless necessary. Peace was all we wanted—but peace was the one thing we couldn't get.
Then one day, my father made a decision that none of us expected.
Without telling anyone, he found a piece of land far from our noisy neighborhood. And within fifteen days—just fifteen days—he built a new house there. A small but beautiful one. The speed shocked everyone, even us. My father didn't wait for opinions, didn't discuss, didn't ask—he simply acted. And for the first time in a long time, his decision felt like light after darkness.
Our new house stood in a much better location. On the left side was our family graveyard, a reminder of generations before us. Behind the house stood a madrasa and a mosque, peaceful and calm. In front of the house was a wide road, open and clear, where children played and elders walked during sunset. And behind the mosque lay a large empty field, where the evening breezes felt like blessings.
My father often said, "Allah chooses the right home for every soul." And I believed him. Our new place felt destined—quiet, calm, and comforting. A place chosen by God after years of loud storms.
Inside this peaceful home lived our family of six: my father, my mother, my three brothers, and me—the youngest, the only daughter.
Being the youngest girl, I grew up wrapped in love. My brothers treated me like a treasure, almost fragile. I never had to lift heavy objects, never had to fetch water, and rarely prepared my own meals. If I asked for a glass of water, someone would bring it. If I wanted to go somewhere, one of my brothers would walk with me. I was the heart of our home—their "kolijar tukro," the little piece of their hearts.
But time doesn't freeze for anyone.
My eldest brother had married eight years ago. At that time, I was still small. Now, I was sixteen, preparing for my upcoming SSC exams. Life was moving fast, and before I knew it, our peaceful home stood at the edge of new storms.
My younger brother, who was just older than me, had fallen in love. He had been in a relationship for two years, secretly. When he finally confessed it, he insisted on marrying her. This created a new kind of tension because tradition demanded that the older siblings marry first. Our middle brother, still unmarried, now became the focus of discussion.
My father, who was usually calm, suddenly started searching for a bride for my middle brother. Days passed in endless proposals, discussions, visits, and rejections. My father was picky; he always wanted the best. But at last, after weeks of searching, he found a girl he liked.
And within just one week, both weddings were fixed—
Monday for the middle brother, Friday for the younger one.
Our house turned into a festival. There were guests, laughter, lights, colorful sarees, and endless food. As the only sister, I felt honored, excited, and emotional. Watching my brothers get married made me feel both proud and afraid. Life was changing. Our family was growing. And soon, I knew, my turn would come.
But I didn't expect it to come so soon.
My exams were only twenty-three days away, and I was busy with four tuitions—Math, English, Physics, and Biology. I barely had time to sleep properly, let alone think about marriage. So when relatives began whispering about my future, I tried to ignore it.
But gossip travels faster than truth.
Soon, marriage proposals began arriving—one from the city, one from the nearby village. The city boy had money, property, and everything society admired. But my family hesitated. The city was far. They couldn't imagine me living so far away. I was their heart. They couldn't give their heart to the distance.
Instead, they preferred the boy from the village next to ours. His house was just five minutes away if you walked. Not rich, not poor. Quiet. Simple. The boy had finished his studies but was unemployed. He earned a little through online work. But they liked him because he was calm, polite, and well-mannered.
One afternoon, as I returned home from tuition, my brother sat beside me and said softly:
"Munni, we found a proposal for you. The boy is good. Very close to home. We think this is right for you."
I didn't know what to say. My heart was confused, but my eyes were calm. I answered gently:
"If you all like him… then I have no objection.
But it would be better if this happened after my exams."
My brother nodded. But fate had other plans.
Two days later, I returned from tuition and saw something strange. Relatives had gathered. The kitchen was full of delicious smells—biriyani, meat, pulao, payesh. Women were laughing, children running, men talking in circles.
I froze.
Something was wrong.
My heart knew before my mind did.
I walked inside slowly and saw my mother's nervous smile. My eldest aunt whispered to another woman. And then one of my brothers came and said the words that crushed my chest:
"Munni… today is your marriage."
I felt the world collapse.
I wasn't ready.
I had exams in fifteen days.
I had dreams.
I had plans.
And suddenly—none of them mattered.
I wanted to cry, scream, refuse—but my voice disappeared.
Everyone celebrated except me.
Everyone smiled except me.
That night, under bright lights and loud blessings, I got married to a man I had spoken to only once. A man I didn't know. A man chosen for me, not by me.
His name was Shipon.
My life changed in one evening.
My books waited on my desk, untouched.
My exam dates were approaching.
My heart was trembling.
But destiny didn't ask for my permission.
This was just the beginning…
the beginning of a storm I never saw coming.