He whispered in my ear. I smiled though I was half asleep.

"Wake up beautiful lady, It's your day."

He placed a sweet kiss on my cheek. I opened my eyes.

He was dressed as SpongeBob, my favorite cartoon character.

I didn't laugh, I just smiled, but that smile was huge.

Its no surprise to me, as he does this every year on my birthday.

He was holding a bowl of chocolate ice-cream and a candle lit on it.

This is new, every year he adds a new idea to his plan for my birthday and I loved this one.

I closed my eyes and made a wish, 

"That he loves me like this forever". I opened my mouth to blow the candle and suddenly felt like someone poked me on my shoulder, I turned around and it was him. He was back from work, tired as usual. His car key still on my deltoid.

"Bring me some water, I'm tired", he said and handed me his laptop bag -

I looked back and saw smoke, a blackened stove and milk burning on it. 

He was taking off his socks and looking at me with a smirk.

"I asked for water if you're done with talking to yourself" - He said.

It really was my birthday.

"Ammi, I can't see anything," I cried, meanwhile tracing my little hands on the blanket to find her.

"Where are you? I have become blind..." I was crying and yelling at the top of my voice. I was really scared - I just couldn't see anything.

"Don't yell!" she said and started cleaning the crusty pus from around my eyelashes. I was still crying. Finally, my eyes were clean and I could see.

"Now, go back to sleep," she said. She was getting ready, it was around 7 in the morning.

"Ammi, can I also come?" I looked at her with eyes brimming with hope and a really fake smile—just to convince her.

"No," she said.

That "No" broke my heart into tiny pieces. I started crying again at the top of my voice.

"Okayyy," she said finally. "But, you're going to behave there. No running around, no fighting, no shouting, no touching thing and most importantly not talking unnecessarily." she said while making her hair.

I got up on the spur of the moment, and changed in a minute -

I was really happy. like sooo happy -

I was excited to go there.

“Ammi, can i come everyday??”

“No” she said. 

That No broke my heart but I had a really exciting whole day ahead, I was happy.

It was still kinda dark outside, Ammi had a huge Red torch which came in handy. I looked at the rising sun and wished that Ammi agrees to take me there every day.

After a short walk, and a long piggy back - we reached at 8:50 infront of a huge Maroon gate.

"Police", I yelled in fret, and hid behind her head.

"Shut up", she said.

The police opened the gate. Suddenly the huge dogs started barking. I closed my eyes and held ammis shoulders from behind.

After a while, we were inside the house.

Ammi kneeled down and I jumped off her back.

She whispered in my ear, "Do what I have told you, okay" and she left me in a hallway.

In a sec Ammi disappeared and I was all alone sitting in the hallway looking all around in awe.  

I sat down, and looked at the floor, I started laughing as I could see the two fountains Ammi had made with my hair.

I just followed the aisle and it led me into a huge room. I walked in. I saw a woman, she was drinking something in a big mug.

Beside her were 3 children, two boys and a girl my age. There was a woman wearing clothes like my ammi, she was making the table ready for breakfast.

I sat down in a corner, No one noticed me untill ammi arrived.

"Why are you sitting here in the corner," Ammi said—

She held me by my arm and pulled me so I could stand.

She left me on a small chair right infront of the woman and the children.

“Hello whats your name??” The woman asked. 

It felt like i hadn’t spoken for so many years. I tried to but couldn’t say anything. 

I just smile at the lady and tried to clear my throat. 

“Okay dont be shy pretty girl.” She said and asked me to paint with other children. 

I smiled again and tried to get up from the chair, but I couldn’t. I just held onto the cushion tightly with my hands. The chair moved forward and made a creaky sound, which made me feel embarrassed.

The woman smiled and went back to her phone.

The children were painting something and the other woman was feeding them their breakfast.

Suddenly, the girl spilled some water on the painting. The boy got angry and ran after her. She shouted in fear and hid behind the other lady.

Their little fight continued until Ammi arrived.

"Madam, I've some work to do today, can I leave early," Ammi asked the woman.

"Yes sure, and also your daughter is really nice, well-behaved and shy" she said giving a cold look to the two of the children.  

"Thank you Madam", Ammi said.

I didn't talk the whole way home, and ammi was saying that I behaved well and didn’t embarrass her in front of the woman she was calling Madam. 

"You can come with me everyday!" Ammi said proudly.

I didn't answer her.

We reached home, Ammi slept, and I wrote something in my diary -

The expensive furniture and rugs, The spotless floor and walls and the people who were like fine wine - All those things buried me deep into a dark pit called isolation. Everything seemed out of my reach. Yes I felt less important and shy - shy to utter even a single word. My throat was heavy and I had to clear it before I could speak - But I was not doing that bcz I thought that even the sound of it would be looked down upon. I was quite and still but my brain was going through alot- Although, No one was looking at me but I still felt an exhausting stare which alert me to a degree that I started noticing all my actions - And that's why i was shy. I knew every minute detail of what made me inferior to everyone and everything there. I never thought I would ever hesitate to breathe - Yes all I did was smile at them and look away before I was asked anything. All I saw in those eyes is either sympathy or disgust which ate away  the last few pieces of self respect left in me - I would love to be seen by eyes filled with hatred instead. As that wont embarrass me for who I really am. I wish I never look at someone the way they looked at me. I don't know why but everything they said, everything they did and everything they own, (even their genuine kindness) made me look down upon myself. 

That was why I acted a certain way around those people and thats how I masked the real me. I had limited my words and actions so that what I am remains under cover. Madam G said I was "shy". No I'm not shy I just acted in a certain way. I am not I am just ashamed of myself only when I am in here. I am not shy I am just not as privileged as you. I am not shy I am just a poor 12 year old girl overwhelmed by what I really can't get. and thats why I act a certain way. - I am not shy but yes being "shy", was all I could be - coz my life doesn’t allow me to be like those children in that house. Feels like I am no more 12. 

“Ammi,  I am not shy. And I dont want to come with you every day.” I told ammi. 

The expensive furniture and rugs, The spotless floor and walls and the people who are like fine wine - All these things burry me deep into a dark pit called isolation. Everything seems out of my reach. Yes I feel less important and shy - shy to utter even a single word. My throat is heavy and I'll have to clear it before I speak - But I'm also not doing that bcz I think even the sound of it would be looked down upon. I am quite and still but you can't imagine what my brain's going through - Although, None is looking at me but I still feel an exhausting stare which alerts me to a degree that I start noticing all my actions - And that's how I've become a shy person - I know every minute detail of what makes me inferior to everyone and everything around. I never thought I would ever hesitate to breathe - Yes all I do is smile at them and look away before I am asked anything. All I see in those eyes is either sympathy or disgust which eats away that the last few pieces of self respect left in me - I would love to be seen by eyes filled with hatred instead. As that wont embarrass me for who I really am. I wish I never look at someone the way these people look at me. I don't know why but everything they say, everything they do and everything they own, (even their genuine kindness) makes me look down upon myself.

This is why I act a certain way around people and thats how I mask the real me. I've limited my words and actions so that what I am remains under cover. people say I am "shy". No I'm not shy I just act in a certain way. I am not I am just ashamed of myself only when I am in here. I am not shy I am just not as privileged as you. I am not shy I am just a poor 12 year old girl overwhelmed by what I really can't get. and thats why I act a certain way. - I am not shy but yes being "shy", is all I can be - coz my life doesn’t allow me to be like kids my age.

A paragraph from her diary:

"Yes I see, every-time I look in those eyes, I see unending love for me. I see him falling for every inch of me. I see him obsessing over every bit of me. And everytime I smile he looks at me for hours even without realising it. The spark in his eyes when he looks at me speaks to me that he loves me, He loves my whole being and yes I love him even more. what I love the most about him is his smile when he looks at me, as it validates my soul. All my life I wanted the love that belonged to me. I have that love and I'll keep it forever in my heart. I love him the most and nothing can transgress my passion and my obsession. Above all he has become a part of my soul, my body and my life. Nothing comes before him and nothing stays after him. I just want to give him all the love of the universe and make him the happiest man on Earth. I am only happy when I am with him.  I don't have doubts about myself anymore as i know that he loves me. I find myself perfect as he loves me and he's all mine."

Present day

That night he was a little upset. I dont know why but he looked sad. I sat down next to him in his arms. He stared at my old wrinkled face and smiled. He pulled me closer and burried his head on my weak  shoulder. I rubbed his face with my trembling but warm hands. His face was freezing.

I dont know why but even my touch has to offer him so much love. My hands only when they touch 'him' are gentle and warm. 

I felt safe in his arms. I felt peaceful and satisfied. I felt  being loved. I felt warmth, I felt connection, I felt love. I felt every feeling when he was holding my hands.

I just love being loved when he's the one who's loving.

He held my bony wrinkled hands tight in his, looked in my eyes and whispered , "I love you".

We had been together for the last 50 years but everytime he said these words I felt a sudden rush of something cold inside my whole body.

"Can I ask you something?" I said. 

"Yeah sure" he replied.

"You really have to be very honest" I asked and looked in his eyes as I knew he couldn’t lie to me when looking in my eyes.

"Its been 50 years now, and you still love me the same, why do you love me so much? Its always been a curiosity to me but today I wanna ask you, what makes you lives me so much?why do you love me so much?" I asked with a smile on my face and my heart.

His pupil dilated, his cheeks blused and the smile it suddenly faded,  At first he couldnt make eye contact but then i could see his eyes brimming with tears. He pulled me close and placed a soft kiss on my eyes. 

"I love you because you have that smile. You have 'her' smile". He said.

I felt my heart suddenly drop its smile. It was heavy. Suddenly, It started beating relentlessly, mercilessly and violently. 

I had been fooled my whole life. He never loved 'me'. He only loved the smile. I just wanted to place a brick on my chest so that my heart would stop for a while.  I wanted every moment to be a moment he said it was a lie. As he didn't, every moment was heavy on my heart and I couldn't breathe. I never knew I loved him so much and all alone.

Yes I was happy as all my fantasies were shattered and then I knew the truth. but what was with this heart that it was beating mercilessly. Yes I saw unending love in his eyes, But then I knew that it was barely a reflection of my eyes on his - He never loved me and I was fooled by my own fantasies.

That night breathing seemed very hard as I realised how much I had loved him. I had loved him so much even without realising it. My heart was sad and restless because all my life All I heard were some unsaid words, All I felt were some strange and unrelated emotions.

 My heart wept every time I realised they were never mine and all those feelings were never meant for me. 

It was never in mine, but that night my heart was not even in its own control. Nothing but a little bit of hope could hold my restless heart, the hope that it was a lie - that the night never existed, the hope that he only loved me.

I didn't hear it breaking, my heart was shattered though. 

"Your love to me now is darkness, I wont guard my heart any way" - I said and went inside. 

Today she saw blood on my pillow.

 “Ammi, I know they will save you.” She whispered in a voice even more fragile than my own condition.

 I smiled and coughed again with blood – and she knew that I was going to die soon.

I still remember myself long ago, fighting with the frightening thoughts of losing my own mother. I was also a kid, a small girl – but yes with big big big dreams. My mother was really good in hiding stuff. “The painful stuff I mean.” She used to hide her handkerchief, the pillow covers, her sputum, her clothes and also her pain – she hid so well that I never knew the feeling, the frightening feeling of loosing someone, as i only got to know about it when i had lost her already. She was good at hiding stuff – Yes, the “painful stuff” I mean. I see my mother in some parts of me. “Especially the most fragile ones.” The parts she was too good in hiding –

I want my daughter to see me in the strongest parts of her being, and not the fragile ones, not the painful ones, not the weak ones. But who knows what she sees in me, as here I am coughing with blood, just like my own mother.

Laila is my daughter and my only family.

She must be scared, might be crying or might be losing herself – But in front of me she acts alright. I’ve named her after my mother and maybe that’s why she’s also good in hiding stuff – (The painful stuff – I mean) – she looks into my eyes and sees what I used to see in my mother’s eyes. A tired soul – A soul that has not lived, a soul that has just survived, a soul that has never dreamed. Or she might see in my eyes one day what I had wished when I was her age. As after that I never wished for anything but the “The Pink Jacket’ —

30 years ago in Dhaka, Bangladesh, (biggest / most populated and most polluted slums) —

My Ammi was my everything, she was my strength, my love, my obsession and my best friend, well now as I’m old enough she’s still the mirror to the most fragile parts of my soul. I loved her more than anything. She was a beautiful woman. I always wanted to be like her. To me she was perfect – the strongest and the most powerful. But I never knew she was just as weak as I am right now. I used to think she was strong because she used to hold my hand so tight that sometimes I wouldn’t even feel my hand anymore. Maybe, it was not her strength but her fear, the fear of losing me. She had lost everyone except me. Sometimes she was lost in me. Or it might be that she saw people in me whom I didn’t know, maybe I looked like my dad, or my grandmother or someone she used to love.

Ammi and I used work in a textile factory close to the slums where my mother’s mother and her mother and her mother and her mother and many generations had worked. But I never liked it personally. It was dirty and triggered my migraine almost always in the beginning but then I also got along with it just like the previous generations.

The factory was huge but I was still very small which no one saw.

I still remember her tanning the jackets and telling me stories. But she never completed any of them unlike her work. It might be that she couldn’t imagine any further or maybe she couldn’t tell what she had imagined in the end.

“It’s a loop, but it should end with me” she used to whisper all the time in the end of every story to herself.

“I dream to tann 500 jackets today and wake up alive tomorrow.” She said tanning a jacket with no emotions on her face, when I asked her about her biggest dream.

“I dream to buy the pink jacket.”, I pointed towards a pink jacket on a flex hanging right behind her. She turned her head to see it.

“Yes, I’ll buy you one one day.”she said with an unshakeable smile on her beautiful face.

It was the happiest day of my life. Or maybe the happiest illusion of my life. I had imagined myself wearing that jacket a 100 times, every single day till the day she left me forever. And after that I almost forgot about my biggest dream.

But years later when I grew a bit older, I saw it hanging in the factory. The area where we were not allowed. And that day I didn’t dream of buying it one day, instead I just wished to see someone wearing it. Maybe, I knew now that this is all I could dream.

I just wanted to see how happy someone could be after wearing it. How happy someone could be after living my biggest dream.

Present day:-

I saw a lady beside me, wearing a pink jacket, the same jacket I loved. I smiled as the only dream of my life had come true, but I don’t see anything on that woman’s face. She was just okay with it. I always thought to see so many emotions on the person’s face who could wear the pink jacket, but she was not happy. I always wanted to see people who could wear the jacket, but today I saw that these people wear it just as an ordinary thing – and not a dream. Maybe it’s just what they need and not what they want. It breaks my heart that we die in the process of making things  which are merely a need and  so ordinary to people for whom they’re actually made. But yes now that I'm dying my wish came true. I finally saw someone in the pink jacket. And now i know that it was just a pink jacket. Just a pink jacket.

“Ammi, I want to be a doctor” –

Laila whispered in my ear pointing towards the doctor heading towards us.

I turned around to see her, 

“You will be one day.” I said aloud with a crumbled faith in my heart. But “Its a loop and it should end with me i whispered to myself just like my mother.”

…………………………………..

Why are you not crying or are you not scared?" she asked, crying and shouting like people who are not an exception.

I've thousand more valid reasons to cry, I didn't say, I just thought. She was crying, shouting, and meanwhile trying to unchain herself. The terror was really obvious on her face and in her voice. This is what people who are not an exception do when they're terrified, sad, and overwhelmed.

And I don't remember the last time I was allowed to do all this stuff. Her crying and shouting—everything she's doing right now clearly tells that she was seen and heard. And her fear of being stuck here speaks to me that she was loved, protected, and cared for.

Chaining me was just like caging a bird that would never fly—not because it couldn't, but because it didn't want to.

"What's your name?" she asked. 

Yes, this could be a reason to cry. I thought. 

 I didn't answer not because I didn't want to, but because there was no answer to it.

This was valid enough to make me cry, as to this really simple question I had no answer. I didn't say anything, I just kept quiet.

"She asked again." I closed my eyes and acted like I was sleeping. To me, sleeping had become the most horrifying thing these days, as that’s when you are all alone with yourself.  And the moment I close my eyes, I get flashbacks of what terrified me and ruined me completely.

I still remember the day Ali was beaten badly—so badly that he started bleeding from nose. I still remember him crying, shouting, and calling out for help, just like people who are not an exception.

Ali was my brother, my beautiful brother. I loved him a lot. He was the only person in the whole world who saw me like a human being. And that day onwards, he was not allowed to play with me. I still remember when we grew old, I mean around 15, Ali used to tell me that I was like everyone else and not an exception. But in believing this, Ali was an exception.

Ali left me and everyone else forever, and after him, I'd lost my only hope in life. He was the only son to my mother, and the rest of us were girls. And now that Ali left us, whatever identity I had died with him.

After him, life was blue—but Ali loved blue.

Whatsoever hope was left in me, I buried it with Ali—and whatsoever identity I had died with him. I miss him almost every second.

"Do you think someone will help us get out of this place?" she asked. 

I don't know why, but whatever she asks takes me back to a life I have closed my eyes already to—

I didn't answer again. This time she was crying.

Back then(setting: KPK Peshawar)

My Amma got anxious whenever I asked her about the day i was born. I was the eldest of all my siblings and the first child to my parents.

My Amma was just 20 when she got married to my Abba. She fell in love with him and against the will of both families, they got married. After a few days, they were accepted by my Abbas family, but never by my Ammas. 

The first few years of their married life had been fine—until the day they still recall as an accident, the day I was born.

I don't remember what happened then, but I see everything on their faces right now. Amma still hates me for the pain I caused her just by 

being who I was.

And Abba never looks at me. In the beginning, like when I was a kid, I wanted to be seen and heard by him, but he always avoided me. He just couldn't even accept my existence, or it’s this that he still denied the fact that I was his child.

I was living in a house where only the walls could see and hear me.  And my sisters—5 of them—they never bothered to know me. All I saw in their eyes was disgust and hatred.

Sometimes I wish I was born a rat, a filthy rat. They didn't name me, because they knew that no one would ever have to call me. I was never involved in anything. I was never allowed to sit and eat with them, go out to buy things with them, do chores with them. I was never seen or heard. I was not educated like any of my siblings. 

Present day

The small wooden door opened. The other girl was in fear. She started crying again. The lady who had entered slapped her to shut her up. She unchained us, gave us some food, and left.

"My name is Fatimah." She said. 

I looked at her tired face. She was still crying, but quietly. I nodded and said nothing.

She asked again, "Can you speak?"

I shook my head in refusal, and from then on, I was dumb. It was a relief to me, because then I didn't have to answer any of her disturbing questions—although simple for others, but disturbing for people who are an exception.

"So you come from a religious family, right?" she asked.

Meanwhile, the door opened again. But this time, a stout man appeared. He dragged both of us by our arms.

We were brought to a bigger room. A hall way. There was this specific kind of smell in there—a mix of blood, sweat, feet, and dust.

 There were so many other women, some were young, others old, and some in their teens.

The hall way was not lit well. And the windows were covered with newspaper, which was then layered by cardboard. It was so hard to breathe. The smell would kill someone who was not used to it.

I suddenly felt nauseous. The women there looked very weak and extremely malnourished. There was a constant expression on everyone's faces; they all seemed thirsty and tired. I could see their cracked and parched lips, drooped eyes, thin wrinkled and bony faces.  Although there was no muscle left on their bodies but they were dressed in a way that most of their breasts, arms, neck, and belly was naked—some were in saari, while the others in shalwar kameez.

Fatimah was dragged by her hair and thrown among the other women. And then it was my turn. A woman headed towards me—she stepped so close that I could smell the pungent odour of the rose talcum powder she had used.

"Take off your burkah," she said.

I lowered my eyes and didn't respond. She asked again and slapped me on my face—with that slap I started hearing bells ringing in my ears. I don't remember anything but the woman’s hand on my body trying to take off the burkah.

Back then 

“Never take it off, as it hides your beauty and makes you pious." Amma said while we were getting ready to go out.

"Amma, Then I will wear it forever.”I said strongly. 

Amma looked at me for a sec, maybe in confusion, and a second later all I could hear was laughter. Amma and all my sisters—they all started laughing. I never understood their response. As to me, it wasn't funny at all. 

For years I was stuck with it, and after that I just stopped talking—but Amma never stopped quoting it for fun.

I asked Amma the same question—she perhaps didn't laugh this time. My sisters were still staring at me with disgust. 

"You wear it because you're loathsome without it.” She said. 

This was an imprint on my soul. And then on, I never looked in the mirror.

I started covering each part of my body—even my hands, feet, and my eyes. I was disgusted by myself. I hated myself. I had been my own enemy.

I stopped going out with Amma and mostly stayed in my room almost all the time.

But sometimes, I missed Ali. He used to say that I was beautiful. That thought made me smile for a sec—or just for a fraction of a second.

Present day

My eyes were closed, but I could still hear the bells ringing in my ears. I  heard women giggling and talking, children crying and many other ambiguous voices but in the meanwhile, I heard the word, 

"Khusra," 

I suddenly got up and opened my eyes. They were looking at me, whispering among each other. And this time, even the most tired women started laughing. 

I saw my veil dangling in a woman's arm—she was scolding the guy who had kidnapped us and also laughing as if someone had cracked a joke.

Amma was right, the veil had hidden my identity which is disgusting, useless, and of course, a joke. As it made everyone laugh. The woman (maybe the owner)was angry because even in this filthy place, I was of no use.

I was not thrown among the other women where Fatimah was thrown. I should have been happy that these people don't want me, but it made me sadder. The fact that I wasn't thrown among the other women made me hate my whole existence even more—

The woman came back to me and threw the veil on my face.

"You can leave!" she said.

Tears started rolling down my eyes.

I could see Fatimah. She looked at me with astonishment, as I was crying, which I had not done before. For me staying in or leaving this filthy place were no different. 

But if Fatimah or any other woman had gotten this opportunity, they would have cried of joy. But unlike them, I was crying because I felt worthless and filthy.  

"Leave," the woman insisted, rolling her eyes. The man dragged me by my hair out of the hallway and threw me in the street. I could hear Fatimah crying and calling out for help but then I heard a slap and the closing of the door.

Back then 

Amma was beating her chest, crying hysterically, cursing Alizeh (one of my sister) and the guy she ran away with. It was a big issue in a pathan family like ours. 

I didn't go out. I was still inside my dark room, but could hear Abba breaking things and Amma crying. All my sisters were in their rooms locked. My heart stopped for a second as I heard Abba jan weeping.

I rushed towards the hall, I got him some water and held his hand. It was the first time I was so close to my Abba Jaan. I had always loved him endlessly, but today I touched him for the first time. I did something for him and he let me—he let me bring him water.

Abba looked at me with eyes brimming with tears. He held my hand tight, 

"She left me with something more shameful than you being my child?" He said. 

I didn't know if it was love or hatred. My grip around his hand loosened. For a second, I lost all my senses—and my heart was aching so much that I could feel it. It was the first time I felt my heart; I felt it in my chest congesting.

 My father was still completely in denial. He still has not accepted me as his child. Is he to be blamed for all this. No I guess, because he was never ready for me. This thought had never crossed his mind that he could ever be father to an intersex. And yes I cant blame him completely as he had only seen trans in streets begging and being mocked at by men , as dancers entertaining men or as sex workers being visited by men. He had never seen a them in a respectable place like at home living with a family just like the “normal” people. And maybe thats why he couldn't accept me as one of his children. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe. 

Alizeh had returned a week later, as the guy's family didn't accept her. Abba was entirely angry, whereas Amma was trying really hard to make things work.

Another week had passed and the news spread all around and among our neighbours and relatives.

Baba was under pressure. So many of our relatives even women asked Abba to kill Alizeh  for the honour of our family. Days passed by, but the rush of people didn't end. I  heard all this from my dark room.

It was a hot afternoon; the scorching heat was just unbearable. Someone knocked at my door. It was the first time someone came to look for me—I smiled for a second but then opened the door as it started banging violently.

I was still wearing burqah, all covered. As I opened the door, I saw a man whom I didn’t know, grab me by my hand and throw me in the veranda. I didn't know what was happening. Everything happened so fast, I just couldn't understand anything. 

I saw Amma, Abba jaan, and all my sisters, and a huge crowd  gathered all around me. I saw some men holding iron rods, stones, ropes and sticks. They started beating me out of nowhere. 

They stoned me, beat me with sticks, and all I could do was wonder why, why was I being stoned, being beaten, what was my mistake?

I wondered maybe it was because they knew by now that I'm a khusra—but it wasn't such a thing to be stoned for.

After some time I couldn't feel my body—there was blood all over me, and then they all left. I was left all alone outside my own home, stoned for a reason that I couldn't figure out.

Everyone was there in the crowd: my Amma, my Abba Jaan, my sisters. But not all of them—not Alizeh. 

Alizeh was not there.

Present day

I have nowhere to go, I have no one to go to. Even the brothel closed door on my face. There might be people who would accept me, might exist people just like me. Who ever they are, I feel bad for them—but I don't hate them. I don't loathe them as much as I loathe the ones who are not an exception. The "normal" people. 

 I refused to leave and they allowed me in the brothel. 

I was assigned tasks, like washing, cleaning and other stuff.

2 days later, I saw Fatimah — she had lost so much weight in just two days, and I could see the same expression on her face. My heart was heavy — I went close to her, and she started crying.

I looked at her with concern, 

 "I'm still not touched by anyone" she said. And suddenly I felt  my chest lighter. maybe I was relieved to hear that. 

She held my hand tight,  

 "Please let's get out of here", she cried.

I wiped tears from her innocent face, and nodded my head in acceptance. That day I promised myself that I will never let anyone take advantage of her — and I'll escort her out of this hell. 

'Relief' has been a feeling which is really close to my heart.As today I saw it on a woman's face when she delivered a boy in the brothel. And I wouldn’t have seen it, if it was a girl.

I saw it in my Amma and Abba's face when I was stoned instead of Alizeh and in my heart when I heard "Fatimah was still untouched—

There was a small mirror hanging on the wall in my room, But I didn't have courage to look at it.

Abdullah," the guy who had kidnapped us, 

He used to stare at women a lot. I heard from others—even from Fatimah.

But he never even looked at me.

 And that was when I knew that I really was an exception. I wasn't a woman, neither a man, I was  an exception. 

Apart from cleaning and stuff the owner(Hakeema) once told me to learn dancing. 

She gave me a beautiful red dress with gold jewellery and a red lipstick.

I made my hair, put on the lipstick and wore the dress. 

There was this hall, where the men had gathered, they all seem wealthy and powerful. All of them holding bundles of cash.

Hakeemah played music and told me to start.

I did what I was told.

I danced,

I was really scared in the beginning. My hands trembled and i started perspiring. But then 

I saw them throwing money on me. Their gaze was locked at me and their eyes followed me everywhere.  In a  room full of people, it was just me who was being looked at.

It was the first time, I got attention from the ones who are not an exception. It was the first time they treasured me. It was the first time they looked at me. 

It was the first time I felt beautiful.

It was the first time I felt my existence. 

It was the first time I felt being admired and adored. 

It was the first time they were not disgusted. And It was the first time that I finally felt being accepted for who I am. 

The music stopped but I didn't. 

Meanwhile I wondered why were they disgusted by me when I wasn't doing anything wrong and now that I’m doing something so bad, they’re not disgusted. Instead it makes them happy. 

I kept dancing and dancing and dancing and dancing till I heard bells ringing in my ears and I don't remember anything—

Next day, I opened my eyes to a man laying beside me— I was naked. 

I was not sad, neither angry nor terrified. I was just numb. I couldn’t feel my body. I just felt my feet. My feet felt heavy. The man left and i was all alone in the room.

 The dance, the appreciation, the attention, the love and the gaze:I loved it all. 

My eyes were still stuck on the mirror hanging at the same spot  but I was a different person now as I had gathered courage to see myself in the mirror. I saw myself in the mirror after so long. And the person i was looking at, shes beautiful. 

 I saw Fatimah behind me. Her eyes filled with terror.

She stopped as she saw me naked—

And finally I came back to my senses—it was like a dream, and not a nightmare. Though  for anyone who is not an exception would hate it, would cry, would be disgusted would dislike it, but It wasn't a nightmare to me at all.

It was Fatimahs turn the next day. And she had come to me for help. 

“I am your saviour.” Again i just thought. 

I nodded my head and she knew what I had told her.

I was her savior.

And then again I saw relief. It really is my favorite emotion.

From then on I used to take her place every night and she remained untouched.

I slowly felt that I was not a disgusting creature—and that I was actually filled with love—unending love.

And I felt it only with Fatimah—

My love for her was important to me as it made me fall in love with my own self. It made me feel that I was never a disgusting person and that I was as lovable as anyone else. 

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years. And Fatimah was still untouched. But it was getting difficult for me to replace her as Hakeemah had got hint of  what   was going on.

And in that case, I had to find a way to get her out of this place.

“Abdullah” the first time I saw him in the bazaar, I felt something. Butterfly people call it. I loved that man almost instantly. 

And that feeling had gathered with time. I was really in love with him. But he never even looked at me. 

The day still feels like yesterday, when Abdullah called me, as i had no name,

"Kinaar," he said.

Although the way he called me was entirely disrespectful but still my heart pounded.

I couldn't breathe, 

I went towards him smiling. 

"Tell your friend please..

"It's not a lie, I'm really sincere.” He was blabbering in confusion. 

I was  looking in his eyes. And i saw love and honesty. 

"I love your friend Fatimah"—he said finally. 

I know these words are still carved

somewhere deep in my heart, as I felt

every word caused so much pain. 

It was painful, really painful.

My heart was bleeding, and wanted to die—

It really stopped for a second. I had been

through a lot in life, but it was the

first time I wanted to die. The feeling

was so intense that it could’ve killed me. But

I survived again as I am an exception.

I just walked away,

that night I couldn't sleep and it continued for

a week almost.

But his love for her could obviously get Fatimah out of this place forever. 

So I decided to let her know. 

Fatimah was aware now of all this, and Abdullah decided to get her out of the brothel—but in the meanwhile he was so happy that he didnt even asked just for once if i also wanted to leave this place. 

Fatimah asked me to run away with them but I just closed the door on their face, as for me (an exception

), the whole world was a brothel. 

“Umme habiba you are,” she said behind the closed door. 

It was the last time i saw them.