Alisha wearily walked up the stairs, barely saved from the impending storm outside. Unlocking the door, she unmindfully massaged the bruises on her back. Her husband wasn’t home yet, she noticed, with a sigh of relief. The gynaecologist visit had gone well and the baby was a healthy 12 weeks old. She hadn’t told him- yet.
Night after night of fresh bruises and insults haven’t really set the mood, have they?
She smiled wryly, gazing over the street below as it poured. Something shifted in her eyes, she would not have it anymore. Not her child, not here, not with him. Someone had to put a stop to this suffering and it had to be her, for the sake of her child. She had tolerated enough.
But what could she do? Would she be able to care for the child on her own? What will her parents say? She cried again, that night, not from the pain but from the storm that raged within her. Bold in one thought, anxious in the next. Confident again, scared again. As dawn broke, her resolve came through.
She booked an appointment with a lawyer the next morning.
Miriam removed her drenched hijab and settled in for another sleepless night. More thinking, less sleeping. She had known for a while now, but nobody in her family knew yet. She didn’t have the courage to go up to Abbu and Ammi and tell them that she liked girls and not boys. She knew they wouldn’t take it well, she knew they would deny it outright. But she was growing restless, she couldn’t keep this a secret anymore. But the weight, the consequences of letting this secret out would bring? She didn’t think she was ready for it. She didn’t want to see disappointed faces of the two people she adored and respected. At what cost? What was the price she was paying by conforming to societal norms and losing her identity? Sleep eluded her and so did closure, as she twisted and turned in bed grappling with her emotions. Was she doing the right thing? Or was there something wrong with her? Will her beloved folks shun her or will they understand? Should she keep mum? Should she speak out for herself? Wrecked by anxiety and fear, she shook as dawn crept in through her window.
Straightening her damp pillow, she walked out that morning.
“Abbu, we need to talk.”
The storm raged on forever that night and it rained relentlessly.
For both of them, it was Fight Night.
At that point it didn’t matter whether Alisha won her freedom, both for her child and herself. It didn’t matter how Miriam’s Abbu would react. All insecurities, fears, all the odds that stood against them were smaller in the face of their resolve. In the face of their Fight, and the choice to fight harder every day. Even the possibility of their victory or of probable pitfalls didn’t matter.
Their journey in that one stormy night, their struggle against themselves and everything they knew, that’s what mattered.
We might all have different destinations leading us forward, but we are all common in one thing, the Fight. The only thing that matters.
You spoke out.
It’s just You and the Fight Night, after all.
Bold in one thought, anxious in the next, and then confident again.
A breathtaking tale that will keep you on your toes.
Gear up, Coimbatore!
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