Dating Boys vs. Men

I honestly always believed that the dating boys vs. men debate was a cliche debate set up by the society to just have another topic to argue on. I was convinced that this topic has little to no real significance and that turning into men was merely a transformation all boys undergo with age. But little did I know, until just recently, that acting out in a way a man does has very little to do with age.

You’ll just know when you’re investing your love within a fully grown man or an amateur lad. If it comes with a baggage of a lot of unnecessary insecurity and lack of trust, maybe it’s about time to reconsider your options.

A boy will always underestimate you. A man is not afraid to challenge you because he knows what you’re capable of.

A boy makes excuses. A man admits when he has screwed up, and always does everything he can to fix it.

A boy is either needy or impossible to get a hold of. A man always makes time for you, while also making sure he has a life outside your relationship.

A boy bottles everything up, and lashes out because of anger or other pent-up emotions. A man admits when he needs you and when he needs to talk, even if it makes him uncomfortable.

If he thinks he must provide for you, he has still got some years of growing up ahead of him. A man knows that a relationship means the two of you are providing equally for each other.

A boy is always thinking of whether or not he could do better. A man knows when he has something good right in front of him and never takes it for granted.

A boy makes you feel like you’re not good enough. A man makes you want to be a better person because you’ve so much genuine respect for him.

Just remember, a boy will need you because of his fragile self-esteem whereas, a man needs you because he genuinely believes his life is better with you in it.

A boy will always be ready to do anything to get what he wants while a man is ready to love without hesitation and no bounds attached.

Know the difference, ladies. Spread awareness, know your worth and say no to fuckboys, this year. 🙏🏻🌟


Stephen Hawking (1942-2018)


The news of Hawking’s death honestly caught me off guard. Having been a fan since the age of almost 12, having spent my insomniac nights watching his documentaries on YouTube, having collected every book ever since the release of Brief History of Time (although half of the content didn’t even make sense, sometimes), having watched the Theory of Everything itself 10 times and idealising this man since such a long time, hearing this news completely shattered me. Born on Galileo’s death day, died on Einstein’s birthday and Pi day (3.14): ‘a day that represents a number that extends infinitely, Stephen Hawking transitions to the infinite.’ Oh, Hawking even if you weren’t able to achieve the goal I hope you were on the right path to finding it. Thank you for making physics so beautiful for me. You were the greatest of our time and gave birth to many great others. Thank you for everything. – Stephen Hawking, theoretical physicist. (1942-2018) #stephenhawking #rip #physics

Getting married to a man better than the one I was in love with – Part 4

14159691_1099897180101624_589662660_nSelf-hate. Do you know what it feels like?

Self-hate feels like waking up every day, looking at yourself in the mirror, and hating every single bit that adds up in making you the person you are. Self-hate feels like clutching your pillow tight to your chest, hugging yourself, in an attempt to keep yourself together while you cry out loud in an empty room. Self-hate feels like taking a shower and scrubbing your skin till it hurts, just in an attempt to rub your skin off that covers the being that you hate so much.

And mine had taken a toll on him. Imagine for a moment, loving someone so much that you put them over everything. Even yourself. And they telling you one day:

‘You know what I really hate about you?’

The word ‘hate’ pierced right through my heart but yet foolishly, still expecting it to be something about me hurting myself or something of that sort, I looked up at him and just nodded.

‘I really hate hate you for loving me.’ I was shocked. I did not dare utter a word and just stared at him. ‘I hate how you messed everything up. Every single thing in between us.’

‘I did?’ I somehow mustered the courage to speak up because it had been enough.

‘Yes, you did.’ He spat out. ‘And don’t you dare throw it at me. Fine, I asked you out. And maybe at one point, there was a thing between us, but it is over. Why the hell would you not get over it and this stupid love thing once and for all. Can you not be my fucking friend for once?’

‘But I am your friend..’ My voice broke.

‘Just. My. Fucking. Friend. Sara.’

‘I am just that.’ I looked up at him with teary eyes and smiled. And he smiled back.
That day and today, I started hating every single thing about me.

I wiped my face off with the back of my hand in an attempt to rub off any dry tear stains as soon as I saw the mall we were approaching. I knew Asad was aware but thankfully there were no questions asked.

I unbuckled my belt and hurriedly got out of the car before Asad’s gentle-manliness arose and he came over to open the door for me. In this moment, I needed distance. From everyone and everything.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked. Finally. I was just wondering how much longer could he possibly shut up and let me stay at peace.

I stared up into his eyes and gritted my teeth. ‘Don’t ever fucking ask me that again.’

He raised his hands in defense and backed away.

Shopping. What was so amusing about it except for spending money on things that would temporarily make you feel nice about yourself? Even this applied back when I loved myself.

We strolled around, looking at all the branded stuff through the windows. Sometimes he forced me to get in some shop and ask me if I liked random things in there. I’d just nod because I didn’t want to argue and he would just buy them for me.

It was a strange day. I felt nothing. Only tiredness. Exhaustion. I just wanted to go back home and sleep but I didn’t feel like speaking up.

After a while, I felt his fingers slip into mine and I didn’t stop him. Simply because I was too tired to resist anything.

Later upon reaching back home I was ‘surprised’ by being told about a dinner reservation the following night.

I sighed exasperatedly but agreed to accompany Asad. I had no idea why this man was still hanging with me.

‘I’ll wait for you till you get ready while I look around some work stuff on my laptop.” Asad told me so and left the room.

I was precisely too tired to change into a nice dress and just stayed in the same position in my bed, staring at the ceiling while playing with my hair. Once I realized a lot of time had passed, I decided to get up and just go to the dinner in my ripped jeans.

I walked out of the room just to find a horrified expression on Asad’s face.

‘Have you never in your life been to a dinner, Sara?!’

There we go. I sort of understood his reaction considering he was a successful businessman that get to attend a lot of formal dinners.

I huffed, annoyingly.

‘Why would you ask that?’

‘It is obvious. You are really planning on going to a dinner with me wearing this?’

‘Yeah, what’s wrong with this.’ I twirled around as if I was wearing a fancy long dress.

‘Oh woman, how many things will I have to teach you?’ He asked rhetorically and walked into the room. I followed him in with my hands on either side of my waist, ready to rant any second; till he pulled out that heavenly thing from that day’s shopping bags.

It was a sleek, red satin dress hanging from the hanger.

‘What… When did you buy this?’

‘You really don’t even remember me asking you in between red and black?’ His face seemed sad.

‘I am sorry. This is beautiful.’

‘I know.’ He grinned like a kid. ‘Okay go in and change now. We might get late.’

I nodded and went in to change into that sleek red dress.


The ambiance of the restaurant Asad chose was strangely pleasant. It was quiet and the environment was something in between professional and romantic; I couldn’t quite place it. I also turned out to find that Asad did drink wine occasionally and that eased me a little bit in his overwhelming company.


I was quietly chewing on my steak when I heard a familiar voice that I couldn’t really recognize at the first instinct.

‘Is that you?’ I heard the same voice repeat from somewhere to the right of our table and that’s when I turned towards it.

‘This would be..? Oh my god, Cara.’

It had been 11 years. 11 years since I last saw her. She was an American 18-year-old girl then. She came to Pakistan through a student exchange program and I was her mentor and best friend the whole time. She was a little nosy but pretty fascinating. And did I mention, very jumpy?

She rushed over to me, not caring about the subtle air surrounding us, and took me in a bone crushing hug.

‘How have you been? I tried so hard to contact you upon returning back to the States. I left you calls, wall posts but no answer.’

‘Oh, that would be because I left all sorts of social media.’

‘And why would you commit such a horrendous sin?’ She put her hands on either side of the waist and frowned at me questioningly.

I smiled at the familiarity I felt by her actions and lowered my gaze to answer the question she had asked me with such curiosity. ‘I faced some sort of unmentionable incident later that year.’ I knew Cara to be of the kind that didn’t just leave something hanging so in order to distract her, I diverted her attention towards Asad. ‘And this is my husband, Asad. We just got married and are currently on our honeymoon here in Miami.’ I tried my best to smile curtly and pointed towards him. This was the first time I introduced him as my husband to anyone.

Asad being the gentleman he is, got up from his seat, buttoning his coat, pushed his hand forward to greet her with a warm smile. But the look on Cara’s face told a different story.

Shock, questions and more questions. But to my relief, she did take his hand and shook it while looking at me.

‘Your husband, you say? Nice to meet you, mate.’

‘Mutual feelings.’ Asad grinned. ‘So why don’t you come over sometime? In fact, come along with us back at our hotel! I’m sure you and Sara need a lot of catching up, meeting after such a long time’

I groaned internally.

‘Yes, sure thing. I’ll just get done with my dinner and stay a little while at your place.’

‘Sounds like a great idea.’ I spoke in a low tone and huffed.


I brought two cups of coffee into the room and nudged Cara with my elbow and pushed her cup forward.

‘What’s better than a steamy cup of coffee in this rainy weather.’ Cara spoke up.

I smiled while looking out of the window and nodded quietly, sipping my coffee.

‘So. How did you exactly end up here?’

‘What do you mean, Cara.’ I asked rhetorically, knowing exactly what she meant.

‘Left the good looking lad?’ I could see her smirk while she looked up at me while sipping her coffee.

I clutched my cup tightly. ‘Why exactly do you all have to talk about him this way?’

I was talking about him after so long to someone who knew everything. And it was not nice.

‘What way?’

‘As if he’s some sort of candy or something.’ I almost spat.

‘Hey, hey you gotta appreciate eye candy when you see one. Everyone knew he was a treat to the eye, no? So tell me what made you leave such a thing?’ She gasped.

This was all he was to them. This is all they thought of my feelings towards him. ‘A good looking lad.’ Ah, that 16 year old girls’ school of thought. I didn’t even have the slightest idea when was the last time I thought of him that way.

Why is it that people thought the term ‘love’ or ‘attachment’ to a human being had to necessarily have some sort of association with how an individual looks. Why can it not be about intellect? Or about wit? Or about how the sound of someone’s laugh makes you want to live a little more? Or about the way their hair mess their face up when the wind blows?

What makes them think that a firm body, hair that falls on his eyes every time he talked and full lips are what make you fall in love? What makes them think that having the sharpest jawline, charming throat muscles or slender fingers was what made me lose my fucking mind over him?

What the hell made them think that me losing my wish to live for myself and just for him had anything to do with how he looked? What the hell made them even think that I’m still not over him, and mourn his loss after all these years, just because he was one gorgeous human being? 

Because it was none of those things. It could possibly be none of those things.

I saw him rot throughout the years. I saw his eyes sunk in with all the sleepless nights he had. I saw his fingers shake and his hands tremble with all the excess cocaine. I noticed the hair fall off due to the medications he was put on. I was the one who washed off grime off his face and patted it dry with a towel after days he spent not even mustering the courage to walk in for a shower. I was the one who never grimaced if the place smelt of vomit.

I did not even understand how to think about a thing as irrelevant as ‘looks’ when I had seen all of this and yet loved him the same. And hence, it angered me. It angered me every time someone talked to him as someone I had a silly crush on. As if to me he was someone that I imagined having some very good looking babies with. It was all so enough for me to handle.

I gripped so hard at my cup that it broke and the coffee spilled on my hand.

‘You see, Cara. I don’t think me telling about what goes on in my life to you will do any good to any of you as none of you has an idea about my experience and perception with everything.’ And started to walk away.

‘And also, he was not just my man crush every day.’ I only turned around to tell her this and to pass a genuine smile.

Author’s note: I’m really sorry for such a long delay but I had not only gotten busy with stuff, my mind had basically stopped working too. I was also catching up on a lot of reading and TV shows so yeah.

Also, I would like to bring one thing to your notice. If you are expecting these series to turn out to be a mystery that will blow you off by it’s ending, you can stop reading right now. I won’t put these under any specific genre mainly because I started writing these with the aim of clearing some common misconceptions in our society, talk about some deep topics the way I usually do, this time just in a story form. So, I hope you like it. I welcome all sorts of criticism. Thank you.

He likes the pretty girls.

He likes the pretty girls

He likes the fancy ones

Because obviously they are no hassle  

They are not the ones he has to worry about a history with

He likes the pretty girls 

He likes the funny ones

Because isn’t their self confidence sexy

Who cares about the one who hates herself now because of all the undermining things he has told her 

He likes the pretty girls

He likes the ones with the rosy lips 

Who wouldn’t want to kiss those

Who cares about the one with the pale ones that only tremble every time she looks at him

He likes the pretty girls 

He likes the ones that are fun to talk with 

Because who doesn’t like some playfulness after midnight 

Who would want to hear someone beg them to stay for a little while longer

He likes the pretty girls

He likes the ones with life in their eyes

He says, ‘hey, doesn’t she have something in her eyes that makes you feel life?’ 

Who cares about puffy eyes with all the late night crying and anxiety attacks
He likes the pretty girls 

He likes the ones that tell him how gorgeous he is

Because obviously a woman like that praising him just means an increase in his prestige 

A girl sick in his love saying it comes as shame and a million questions from the people around him and it is not even worth it 

He likes the pretty girls. Because they stay for a little while. They’re fun for a little while. But you don’t. You make him feel shit and just embarrass him in front of public so stupid girl, don’t exist. Don’t exist anywhere in the story of his life because you ruin it for him. 

You ruin it by fulfilling the promise of loving him forever. Stupid girl, did you not know you were supposed to stop loving him the day it all ended? Did you not know you had know rights no more and only the pretty girls did? Don’t you know he likes the girls that will stay hooked to him only till the day he gets rotten? Don’t you know he likes the girls that will only want to kiss him for one night? Don’t you know he only tells them nice things when she isn’t you? Stupid girl.

Getting married to a man better than the one I was in love with – Part 3

After taking a shower, I somehow mustered the courage to walk out of the room. I walked down the stairs while towel drying my hair, just to find Asad in the kitchen, most probably cooking. He had his (pretty much shirtless) back towards me and was humming some sort of tune I had never heard. Oh god, at least let his music taste be bearable.

I made no sound. I just stood their looking at him, feeling awkward and very alone.

‘When did you wake up?’ he asked me when he turned around after a good 10 to 15 minutes.

I still didn’t know how to speak up so I just stood there silently but my gaze may have wandered a little further down than my liking. Hey, can you blame me? I might not be interested but I was still a woman. I looked away as soon as I realised and he must have noticed too because I heard a small, slightly ashamed ‘oh’ and saw him quickly put his shirt on from the corner of my eye.

‘Forget it, you are up at the right time. Breakfast is ready.’ He smiled. Why the fuck was he smiling?

I started to move towards the table, although I had no mood of being with him in the same room but I was so hungry, I swear I heard my stomach growl 3 times in a row in the last 10 minutes.

Before I could reach, Asad pushed a chair out for me to sit on. Wait, wait, what? This was 2028. This stuff did not happen anymore since the last 3 decades at least. And he smiled too. God, why can’t this man stop smiling already? I gave him a very suspicious look but sat anyway.

To make it worse, he also made my plate for me. The food was really nice considering it was cooked by a 29 year old guy, but the salt was just a little less than my liking. I took small slow bites of my omelette and did not bring my eyes up from my plate even for a moment. I knew he was looking at me. I could feel his eyes intently fixed on me, observing me and my behaviour.

Okay, no. The salt was barely there. I finally looked up just to search the table. The salt was there on his right. I tried to reach for it without letting him notice but he did.

‘What do you want, Sarah?’

That’s when I looked up into his eyes. I could see it there. He knew what I wanted because he was secretly hiding his smile. I tried to point at the salt bottle.

‘I don’t get you, what is it?’

Oh, I get it now. He wanted to hear me speak.

‘Kuch nahi.’ (It is nothing) I said.

‘Chalo, awaz tou sunli tumhari mein ne.’ (At least I have heard your voice now) he told me with a sly smile. I wanted to smack that smile right off his face. It was too much. What did this guy think about himself? He just really creeped me out with his smile and extremely cheesy and stupid lines.

He handed over the salt to me though but I refused to take it and carried on eating my tasteless omelette. Now, with bigger bites so I could leave this place and get as far away as I can from this creep. (read: my husband)

‘Sarah, listen.’

This time I didn’t take notice.

‘Please, I need to talk to you about something.’

He had a serious tone this time. I looked up at him.

‘It is about this honeymoon thing…’

As soon as I heard that word I just pushed my plate away. It made me want to throw up everything I had just eaten.

‘I know how you feel… or what you are thinking so just listen. Please.’

I could hear the hesitation in his voice so I let him carry on. However I had now diverted my gaze from his face to the wall in front of me.

‘The thing is, I’m my parents’ only son. And even I don’t know why, but they are very excited about the entire marriage thing and have already booked the tickets and everything for the coming weekend. I just don’t want to disappoint them by not going nor do I want them to feel like something is wrong between us.’

Oh, so he did know something was wrong. I cursed myself. God, any sane person would know something was wrong with ‘me.’ Not ‘us.’ I exhaled heavily. I knew how it felt. The entire ‘hurting your parents’ thing. After all, that was the entire reason I ended up getting married to this man sitting right in front of me.

‘I know how it feels.’ I spoke up in a low voice.

‘So, I see we are talking now.’ He smirked. Bastard.

I was still uncomfortable about this but I guess I’ll do this and stop thinking just about myself for once.

‘Um, I won’t make any attempts of doing anything that has to do with what you are scared of.’

‘What I am scared of?’ I arched my eyebrow at him questioningly.

‘Uh, you know… the 3 lettered most common word?’ He said looking up at the roof while running his fingers through his, I must say, very gorgeous hair.

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing. But I was really glad he didn’t just throw the word ‘sex’ on my face.

‘I love my parents, Sarah. I hate hurting them. But even then if you are not comfortable enough, I’ll just tell them no I can’t go because a business meeting came up.’ He said.

‘Shut up before I change my mind.’ I said before getting up and walking towards my room.

I pack up my stuff as soon as I can in 3 days and we head over towards our destination which as far as I remember was Miami. I had been there before and honestly, that relieved me. There had been enough ‘first times’ in my life lately.

It was quite honestly the most awkward flight of my entire life. I knew he was making every single effort that he could to make me feel more comfortable but it just wasn’t comfortable for me to manage not t let my arm come in contact with his or my foot caress his in an 18 hours long flight. But somehow I made it through.

As soon as we reach our hotel, I just look around to find the bed and just land on it. It was so soft. I could just melt in this bed and go for a deep slumber in it forever. I hear him laugh a little at my back but I didn’t care. I was so tired and I just fell asleep.

The next day, after we are done with breakfast and everything, Asad tells me, ‘We are going shopping today.’

‘Shopping? I don’t like shopping.’ I reply. ‘Moreover, men don’t like it.’

‘But you used to love shopping!’

That caught me off guard.

‘How do YOU know, I used to like it.’

I see him looking away and I ask him the same thing again.

‘I may have asked someone.’ He says.


‘Your sister.’

‘You do know I hate it when someone does it, right?’

‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’

I decided to let this go too and just went to get ready.

Author’s note: I’m so sorry for prolonging this and I specifically wrote this one in a hurry. I know parts are exhausting as they are exhausting for me too. I wrote the entire draft for this back in May. Trust me, they were just 13 points and I was pretty sure I would be done with it in one go but somehow everytime I sit to write, I end up writing 4-5 paragraphs on just one point. And all kinds of new scenes just start to create in my mind so I can’t stop. I’m sorry for keeping you hanging, I promise it will soon be over. Also, this is particularly hard for me to write as I’m not much of a fiction writer and I keep the exact opposite mentality from what I’m writing about. Let’s hope it doesn’t go as bad as I’m scared for it to go. Thank you so much for all the love. No matter how messy life gets, you guys never fail to cheer me up!

Please understand.

Depression is strange, right? You could be miles away from home. You could be on the opposite side of the world. You could be at such beautiful places that a lot can only dream of. Even after all that, it will still find its way to you. It will come and eat you up.

It doesn’t matter if you are in the middle of a crowd taking photographs, laughing, singing songs; you, on the other hand, could be in a whole another world.

You start to sweat in such cool mist around you. You feel like you’re being suffocated and you need to hold something to help you regain your balance and not fall and end up causing some serious drama. A panic attack is what you fear the most. Not because of yourself, but because of how you don’t want to ruin your family’s vacation too with your very common panic attacks and all the other shit you are very prone to. Every time your parents ask you, ‘are you okay?’ and you just nod because you know that if you speak, your voice will break.

You just walk. On your own. You look around yourself while all the horrible things everyone who mattered has ever said to you, echo in your head. Your vision blurs but you refuse to cry and just keep on walking and try your best to keep track of your family’s voices to know you are somewhere near them. But then you come across this cliff. It’s beautiful. You’re walking almost on the edge of it. And you wonder, what if I jump off this? Will it be fun? Will it be enough to kill me?

But then hear your mom’s voice, shouting from a distance, asking you to walk faster because they are tired waiting for you. And you turn around, leave your tempting thoughts behind and just walk silently and obediently behind them, hugging yourself and not allowing yourself to break down.

Let me tell you it sucks. It’s really horrible. So just stop making depression sound fucking fascinating because it feels like being choked, all the fucking time. Thank you.

Getting married to a man better than the one I was in love with – Part 2

A week later, I was engaged to a complete stranger. He happened to be my father’s business partner’s son who just came back to Pakistan a month ago after graduating. We were both complete strangers. I didn’t know what I was doing. Trust me, I didn’t. A part of me was scared too. I didn’t even slightly have the same feelings as a girl soon getting married. No joy. No smiles.

I remember this ceremony taking place a few days before my wedding. I was completely covered in yellow. My hair all oiled up. No makeup. I was supposed to stay that way for 3 days. According to our people, this is a ritual taken place a few days before a girl’s wedding to ‘enhance’ her beauty. I was not allowed to go out for those 3 days. Especially, not meet my husband-to-be, Asad. Jeez, the term even sounded strange to me. But who cared about him. I was worried about my man. And when I say my man, I don’t mean Asad. My cousins basically found it ‘funny’ to hide my cellphone too so I can’t contact their ‘brother-in-law.’ I hated this stunt but I was too tired and exhausted to argue about it with a bunch of teenage girls who thought they were teasing me and making me blush about it all.

I just sat their, staring at all my cousins and aunties cracking jokes, laughing and singing songs. I just stared. But I wasn’t there. I was in a whole another world.

He was sleeping. On the ground near some bushes. I lay there next to him, half naked, brushing his hair away from his forehead, taking in his face entirely to somehow imprint it in my memory. He suddenly opened his eyes and asked me, ‘what are you doing?’

I’ll tell you a secret, it scared me. I quickly pulled my hand away and closed my eyes and gently whispered, ‘nothing. I was doing nothing.’ That’s when I felt his arm wrap around me. His bony fingers ran across my waist under my shirt.



‘We are nothing.’


‘You know that, right?’


‘Say it.’

‘Yes, I know we are nothing.’

‘Good girl,’ he kissed the side of my forehead.

I started laughing. That’s when I noticed everyone had stopped singing. My eyes burned. I was crying too. I blinked and looked at everyone staring at me. I had to run away. I had to. I ran towards my room. A panic attack was on its way and I knew it.

It was the last time anyone sung love songs and laughed around me before I got married.

26th July 2028. I happen to remember this date, not because it was the day I got married. But because from this day, I wasn’t legally ‘his’ anymore. And just the thought of it made me want to drop at my knees.

I sat there on my bed. There was a speaker and mic next to me and then I saw my mom walk in with the ‘nikah’ documents and a few other cousins entered in my room. She smiled at me. Again, there it was. The sad smile. I was a hyperventilating but in that moment, all of a sudden, I was numb. I felt nothing. She came next to me to hold my hand and that’s when I heard the Molvi Sahib and his words.

‘Do you accept Asad Farhan Khan as your husband?’

I, for the first time, got to know my caste was changing. I didn’t blame my parents as I wasn’t interested to talk about anything related to my marriage. You were supposed to say ‘qubool hai’ (I do) 3 times at the molvi sahib’s question. Everyone was expecting the same from me. I instead turned towards my mom, held her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

‘Amma, will I not be his anymore if I say these two words?’ Tears beginning to form in my eyes.

My auntie slapped my arm playfully, ‘you will be his IF you say them’ and laughed.

But my mom knew who I was talking about. Not the others. My mom sternly told me, ‘Bolo, Sarah.’ (Say it, Sarah)

That’s when the tears began to fall. And I don’t know when the words left my mouth. Every time I heard the molvi sahib ask me that question, my mom would nudge my arm and I would simply say ‘Qubool hai.’ Then it was Asad’s turn. I heard him say it. All 3 times. Without any hesitation. By that time I couldn’t stop crying like a baby. Everyone around me was crying so nobody asked me questions. And that slightly relieved me.

But they were crying with joy. Another burden of an unmarried girl, lifted off from the family. Must be some joy. I, on the other hand, was crying because I felt like someone had tied a knot around my neck and was choking me. They weren’t letting me live nor die.

Later that night, I was sent with Asad, to his house. I was sent to his room. I knew I was supposed to wait for him. But I was scared. Not shy. Just scared. To be looked at or touched.

As soon as I heard the door knob turn, I pretended to sleep. I heard him walk in. I was scared he would be angry on me for not waiting. I heard silence for a while and then some footsteps walking towards me. My heartbeat started to rise. No, he can not touch me. He can not. But then the footsteps became faint and stopped. I, being curious, slightly opened one eye to look, and there he stood in front of an open wardrobe. And I wanted to look a little more at the man I might possibly be spending the rest of my life with. He was tall, had really black hair that were slightly longer than my liking and seemed to have a really nice built by looking at his firm and broad shoulders flexing under his white shirt. He also seemed to be rich considering how well furnished and huge his room was.

I heard him turn around and quickly shut my eyes. He came over and covered me up with a sheet and walked away. After a while I opened my eyes upon hearing some snores that most definitely weren’t coming from the opposite side of the bed. I looked around and caught him sleeping on the couch in a position which seemed to be very uncomfortable for his tall body. A part of me was relieved. Very relieved. The other part of me wondered, out of all the girls this good looking and rich lad could have gotten, why did he end up marrying a girl who wouldn’t even look towards him and is so in love with another man for eternity? Wondering the same thing, I fell asleep in that bed, with all the makeup and my bridal dress on.

The sun rays falling on me woke me up from my deep slumber. I looked up at the clock to find out it had been 11 am.

I walked over towards the massive mirror to finally look at myself as a bride. But all I saw was a sad married girl, dried black tear stains over her face because of all the overloaded mascara and red lipstick smeared all over her mouth. The dress was particularly beautiful but dear lord, did it itch. I right then stripped down, just to find out scratches all over my legs and back because of all the sequins. Next, I removed my heavy jewellery to find red marks around my neck. Wasn’t really the brightest idea to sleep in these clothes and jewellery sigh.

I suddenly heard someone’s heavy footsteps walk up the stairs. Jesus, definitely Asad. His parents wanted him to have his own house for his personal life but I wasn’t really a huge fan of being alone in a huge house all day with this man. I rushed to lock the door.

And soon, I heard a knock. Knock? He was knocking at his own room’s door?


I gulped. I didn’t have the courage to speak a word at that moment.

‘I just wanted to tell you, you can sleep as long as you please.’

I nodded but later realised how he couldn’t really see me.
I sighed with peace when I heard him walking away. After failing to look around for a while for my luggage, I started checking the wardrobes just to find my clothes neatly piled up and hanged in one of them. This was indeed a sweet gesture. I know how you are supposed to dress up and look nice for your husband at least in the first few days of your marriage, but there was only one man I would have done this for and that was most definitely not the man I was married to at the moment.

I took out a worn t-shirt and sweatpants and turned towards the bathroom for a much needed warm shower. And later, find out how much more miserable my life is really gonna be.

Author’s note: Okay, so I don’t know how but this is getting really long so there will be a part 3 too. Or who knows, a part 4 too. Just keep reading because I’m just really new at writing something other than philosophical and this is a new topic too but I’m liking it. I’m loving the feeling of writing again after so long. Love you guys x

Getting married to a man better than the one I was in love with – Part 1

I loved him only. Craved him only. Moreover, wanted to marry him only, if I ever considered marriage. But let’s just say things didn’t work out that way. One lovely afternoon, I was asked by my parents to get married to any man who I may like. I laughed at this.

Being a 29 year old daughter of Asian parents, their demand didn’t come as a shock to me. Although what made me laugh was the ‘any man who I may like’ part. It had been 10 years since the love of my life left me. Even if this sounds startling, I still loved him the same and never was I able to look up at another man.

I missed him. Terribly. I was never the same after him. It was as if he had drained life out of me.

But it had been too much. It had been too much of sleepless nights, stalking his social media, secretly contacting random people around him just to know he was still breathing. But most of all, it had been way too much of letting my parents endure the torture of seeing me die every single day.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I don’t know, I also happened to be their only daughter. They invested their money, love and dreams in me. A graceful, tall, extremely witty, bright girl graduated from one of the best colleges around the world. I was that girl. I ‘was’. So I’m sure it wasn’t easy to see that girl die every single day. It must be like seeing everything you ever lived for, go down the drain. I was sorry. Trust me I was very sorry but I didn’t do anything on purpose. It was as if I lost my own purpose. I started hating myself. I woke up every morning, saw my face, and even that reminded me of him. I didn’t want to dress up or go out anymore. I wanted to hate myself. But I forgot when I made my parents a part of my anxiety too.

I was so sure that he had forgotten me completely in between vodka shots and drunk talks with strangers all around the worlds. Or spending nights with different women. Women. I tensed up at the mere thought. I always did. I deep down knew this part was inevitable but dear lord, could I not bear it. Beautiful women. Wearing something in black or red of that skimpy material. My grip on the chair became stronger, till my knuckles went white for sure. Tears burned in my eyes taking in the entire image of him indulging with other women. He wasn’t mine. He never was. I wasn’t even slightly worth that honour but how strange was this that every time, I thought of another person touching him, it felt like someone was stealing something from me? Why did I feel anger when someone said something against him? Why did I get so possessive to defend him, the way a mother does when somebody says something very valid about her spoilt child?

‘Sarah! What happened?!’ I heard my mom scream and jerk me. Apparently I had zoned out. Once again. I was shaking and had spilled the entire tea on my shirt. I quickly composed myself, looked into my father’s eyes and told him, ‘find a man you like, and I’ll get married to him. I trust your choice more than I trust mine.’ And smiled slightly, and he smiled back. But why was it a sad smile?

Author’s note: I’m writing this after so long. And it’s special because it took a lot of courage for me to start writing again. I felt like I had almost lost this ability, but I’m trying. I know this is short but I promise the next part will be really long. In fact I wrote this part on my way from Washington to Maryland haha. Also, I promised a friend I’d write on this topic so I had to. This is mainly about an arranged marriage thing, which happens to be very common in our country. I have never really written about this or even about marriage basically so let’s see how this goes. I love trying out new topics and you giving it a read would mean a lot. Thank you! 

What I felt for you.

I never asked you to love me back. I just asked you to accept my undeniable love for you.

And if you ask me, I don’t know what love really is. I doubt if anyone knows at all. 

Everyone seems to have different definitions. 

Maybe thinking of it as a stereotype thing, I named what I felt for you as ‘love.’

But what I felt for you isn’t really the question. What I wanted to make YOU feel is the real deal. 

I wanted to make you feel loved, knowing someone would make an effort for you and keep dinner prepared everyday you returned back from work.

I wanted to make you feel safe when life got so hard on you and you still had someone to hold you to sleep.

I wanted to make you forget all the bad things in life, every night, when we were skin on skin. Stifling screams by biting my bottom lip and both of us trying to minimise the noise, so that we don’t wake up the next door neighbors.

I wanted to make you feel worshipped when I looked at you with so much adoration in my eyes and trailed your jawline with my finger tips and grazed your bottom lip with my teeth under the sunlight falling on your beautiful face.
I wanted to make you feel like the child you had forgotten to be at 40 by drawing funny things on your face in the morning when I had failed to wake you up so many times. 

I wanted to make you feel mad at me by imitating you in an annoying voice. Or by poking your cheek constantly while you did some work on the laptop.

I wanted to frustrate you by giving you a heated kiss in the morning and push you out to go for work. Or by running my hand over your dangerous zones on our way back from some monthly grocery. 
I wanted to make you feel complete when I let you tell me about your day with your head on my chest and our fingers intertwined.

I wanted to make you feel everything but never, alone. 

I wanted to make you feel the love you deserved, but never got.

I wanted to make you feel home. 

I wanted you to know you’ve a home you can always return to.

A home that will never send you away and will always be there to welcome you, in her arms, everyday, for the rest of her life.

Author’s note: this is officially the gayest thing I’ve ever written and I’m honestly so disappointed with myself but yeah whatever bye.

I am a scared little girl.

Do you know what’s scary?  

 Scary is how I’m starting to truly understand the things I feel for you.

 Scary is how there’s no one better than you anymore.

 Scary is how I come across such heavenly faces everyday, yet I’ll choose yours over them within a blink.

 Scary is how I’m suddenly starting to realise I’m addicted to your scent.

 Scary is how I miss you and my heart aches for you every single moment.

 Scary is how I now need you for myself.

Scary is how I finally realise you’re not the one for me yet I’m not physically or mentally ready to let you go.