Who's Fault Was It
Part 1: The
Beginning – Mahek’s World
In the heart of a quiet Indian town,
nestled between dusty lanes and aging buildings, lived Mahek, a girl
with soft eyes and fierce dreams. The town she belonged to wasn’t the kind that
encouraged ambition—especially not in women. It was a place where life was
slow, traditions were heavy, and expectations sat like iron chains on young
shoulders. And yet, Mahek dared to dream.
To the outside world, Mahek seemed like
the pampered daughter of a conservative Muslim family. She was the youngest of
three children, the only girl, and therefore, called the “ghar ki ladli”—the
darling of the household. Her mother often brushed her hair with care, her
father bought her bangles from the Friday market, and her brothers teased her
affectionately during mealtimes. But Mahek knew that beneath the surface, there
were invisible conditions tied to every smile she received.
She couldn’t quite explain it, but even
in the tender moments, there was a silence that lingered. A sense that she was
loved not for who she was, but for who she was expected to become.
Mahek’s family was not rich. Her
father, once a schoolteacher, now ran a small stationery shop. The income was
modest, barely enough to meet household expenses. Her mother stayed home,
managing the kitchen and prayers, her world limited to four walls and a prayer
mat. There was a certain kind of quiet suffering in her mother’s
eyes—Mahek noticed it, but never dared to ask about it.
From a young age, Mahek realized that
the only way to break free was to educate herself and build her own
identity. She was a bright student, curious and creative, always among the top
in her class. While other girls her age were being taught cooking and sewing,
Mahek was reading about computers, makeup techniques, and international fashion
trends on borrowed magazines and through patchy internet on her second-hand
smartphone.
She wasn’t obsessed with money for
luxury. She was obsessed with independence—the kind that could buy her
and her family peace. In her heart, she made a promise:
“One day, I’ll be rich. Rich enough to
pull my family out of this struggle, rich enough to be respected, rich enough
to breathe freely.”
After completing her B.A., Mahek
enrolled in a computer course at a local institute. She also managed to get a part-time
teaching job at a nearby English coaching center. It paid little, but
enough to cover her commute, books, and a few things she needed. Her family
didn’t object—because teaching was “respectable.”
But her real dream was something
far different.
She wanted to be a makeup artist.
There was something magical about the
transformation makeup could create. To Mahek, it wasn’t just about lipstick or
foundation—it was about confidence, control, and creativity. She
followed international artists on Instagram, watched hours of tutorials on
YouTube late at night under her blanket, and practiced with whatever little she
could afford. She even saved money to buy second-hand makeup kits.
But when she shared her dream with her
family, the reaction was swift and brutal.
Her father’s brows furrowed in
disappointment.
“Makeup artist? Do you want to paint
faces for a living like those shameless women on TV?”
Her mother didn’t even respond—just
looked down in silence. Her older brother scoffed,
“You want to bring shame to our family?
Girls like us don’t go into such professions.”
The rejection stung, but Mahek didn’t
argue. Not because she agreed, but because she was tired of fighting battles
she couldn’t win.
And so, she pretended to forget
her dream. She told them she would pursue her M.A. in English, and
quietly repressed her inner artist. But something inside her had already begun
to crack—a tiny fracture between what she was expected to be and who
she really was.
A Hidden
Restlessness
As her days became routine—teaching at
the center, attending university classes, helping her mother at home—Mahek wore
a smile. She cooked, cleaned, and studied like an obedient daughter. But
inside, there was a restlessness. A deep ache to be free, to be seen, to
be enough—not just for others, but for herself.
At night, she would sit on the rooftop
under the stars, listening to the distant azaan and whispering to the wind:
“Is it wrong to want more? To want a
life beyond this town? Beyond these walls?”
She didn’t have many friends. Most
girls she knew were already engaged or married, living the same story their
mothers lived. But Mahek wanted her story to be different.
And then—one day, it was.
Part 2: Mahek Meets Jack – The Promise of a New Life
Life, no matter how quiet or ordinary, always finds its own way to surprise us.
Mahek was in the second semester of her M.A. in English when she first saw Jack D’Souza, the new spoken English trainer at the coaching center where she taught part-time. He was unlike anyone she had met in her conservative town. Jack had a quiet confidence, a mix of charm and humility that made people naturally gravitate toward him.
He was Christian, born and brought up in Mumbai, and had recently moved to the town to live with his aunt and seek peace from the fast-paced life of the metro. He dressed smartly, smiled genuinely, and spoke with a fluency that Mahek admired. While others were intimidated by his command over English, Mahek was intrigued.
Their first conversation happened during a lunch break.
“You’re Mahek, right?” he asked, sitting across from her in the
teacher’s lounge.
“Yes,” she replied cautiously.
“I’ve heard your students speak highly of you. They say your grammar classes
are the best.”
Mahek blushed lightly. Praise was rare, especially from colleagues.
“Thank you. I try,” she said, offering a polite smile.
From that day on, Jack made an effort to talk to her every day. Sometimes about books, sometimes about students, sometimes about dreams.
He listened.
And Mahek, who had long forgotten what it felt like to be truly heard, began to open up. Not all at once, but piece by piece. She told him about her dreams of becoming a makeup artist, the rejection she faced from her family, and the way she had buried her passion to protect their honor.
Jack didn’t judge. He encouraged.
“You don’t need to become someone else to be accepted,” he told her
one evening.
“You’re perfect as you are. You just need to believe in yourself.”
For Mahek, these words were more than just support—they were validation. She had lived her whole life being told what not to do, how not to behave, whom not to talk to. Jack, in contrast, made her feel seen.
Soon, their bond deepened. They began texting late into the night, discussing everything from poetry to personal struggles. Mahek started looking forward to going to work—not just for the teaching, but for the fleeting glances and stolen moments they shared between classes.
Jack, too, was enchanted. He admired Mahek’s strength, her honesty, and the vulnerability she so bravely masked under a calm face.
One evening, as they walked past the old temple square on their way home, he paused.
“I know we come from different worlds, Mahek,” he said. “But I feel something for you… something real.”
Mahek’s heart raced. She had sensed it, hoped for it, but never expected him to say it out loud.
“I feel it too,” she whispered.
A Forbidden Love
They began meeting more often—sometimes at the local library, sometimes at the back of the coaching center during breaks. Every meeting was a breath of freedom for Mahek, a taste of a life she could have if only the world around her would allow it.
But they both knew their love came with complications. Mahek was Muslim. Jack was Christian. In her community, interfaith relationships were not just taboo—they were dangerous. Her parents would never approve, and Jack understood the weight of that truth.
So, he made her a promise.
“I’ll convert, Mahek. I’ll accept your religion, your traditions. I’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll marry, and move away from here. Far from judgment. Just us, starting fresh.”
Those words became Mahek’s new dream. The makeup studio she once envisioned was replaced with a modest home, somewhere far away, with Jack by her side. A place where she could finally breathe without guilt.
She began planning silently. She kept their love a secret from her family, from her friends. She stopped thinking of teaching as her final destination—she began to think of it as a means to an end. Every saved rupee, every passed exam was a step closer to freedom.
Hope Wrapped in Silence
A year passed.
Jack still hadn’t converted.
Whenever Mahek brought it up, he responded with kindness but evasion.
“These things take time, Mahek. I’m trying to figure it out. I just need you to trust me.”
And she did. With her whole heart.
Because that’s what Mahek always did—she believed. Even when the world didn’t believe in her.
Still, doubt began to creep in.
Late at night, as she stared at the stars from her rooftop, she whispered questions to the sky.
“What if he changes his mind?”
“What if he never meant it?”
“What if I lose everything for a promise that was never real?”
But in the morning, she always pushed those thoughts away. Jack loved her. He had to keep his word.
He was her only chance.
Foreshadow of Storm
And so, she waited.
She smiled at home, laughed with her students, and dreamed silently of a future that she was sure was just around the corner.
But fate, as it often does, had a different plan.
Part 3: The Storm Breaks – Family Finds Out and Everything Changes
It was a Sunday afternoon, and Mahek was preparing her lesson plans when her phone buzzed with a message from Jack.
“Let’s meet at the tea stall near the park. Just for a while.”
She hesitated. Her father had started to question her frequent outings lately. But she missed Jack. They hadn’t met in three days.
“I’ll be back before Asr prayer,” she told her mother, pretending it was a group study session at the library.
Wrapped in a light dupatta and carrying a notebook to make it believable, she walked briskly to the park. Jack was already waiting, two cups of chai on the table. He smiled, but something about his eyes felt distant.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, looking away. “Just thinking about some stuff. My cousin back in Mumbai has been pressuring me to return. He says this town isn’t meant for people like us.”
Mahek felt a chill run through her. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “No, no. Just thinking out loud. Don’t worry.”
But she did worry. Every day now.
Their conversation was brief. She reminded him, again, about his promise to convert.
“I’m still figuring it out,” he said softly, holding her hand under the table. “But I love you, Mahek. That hasn’t changed.”
She smiled, hiding the sting in her chest.
When she returned home, her father was waiting at the door. His face wasn’t angry—it was calm. Too calm.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“Library,” she replied, too quickly.
He didn’t speak. Just handed her his phone.
On the screen was a photograph. Blurry, zoomed in, but unmistakable—it was Mahek and Jack at the tea stall. Holding hands.
She felt her world drop beneath her feet.
Interrogation
The yelling didn’t start immediately. That came later, like thunder after lightning.
First was silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.
Then came the accusations—one after the other.
“You’ve shamed us.”
“You lied to your mother.”
“You’ve been meeting a boy from another religion?”
“Do you want to die and take us with you?”
Mahek cried. She tried to explain. She told them about love. About Jack’s promise. About her belief that one day, it would all make sense.
But they wouldn’t hear it. Her father looked at her as if he didn’t recognize her. Her mother wept in the corner. Her brother, usually playful, looked at her with disgust.
“You’re not our Mahek anymore,” he said. “You’re a disgrace.”
That night, Mahek wasn’t allowed to sleep in her room. Her phone was taken. Her books were locked up. She was forbidden to attend college, and her job was terminated—her father went to the coaching center himself and handed in her resignation.
“You’ll stay inside this house now,” he said. “You’re not going out until we fix this.”
Mahek didn’t argue. She had no strength left.
Prison in Disguise
The days that followed were a blur. She wasn’t allowed outside. Her friends stopped messaging after a few attempts. No one from her coaching center called. Only Jack kept trying—texts, missed calls, desperate messages.
“Please talk to me.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’m scared for you.”
But Mahek couldn’t respond. Her phone had been confiscated. She wrote letters to herself, in the back pages of her old textbooks, just to stay sane.
One day, during Fajr prayers, she overheard her parents discussing a marriage proposal.
“She needs to get married,” her father said. “Quickly. Before the neighborhood finds out everything.”
“But she still loves him,” her mother replied.
“Then we will erase that love,” he said coldly.
Betrayal from All Sides
Jack, too, began to change. A week passed, then another. The texts stopped. No more calls. No updates.
When Mahek finally managed to borrow a phone from her neighbor and log into her account, she saw a photo—Jack with another girl, smiling at a café in Mumbai.
The caption said:
“Moving on. New beginnings.”
Mahek stared at the screen, not blinking.
Her fingers went numb. Her chest tightened. And then, quietly, she deleted the app.
Not out of anger—but because the pain was now too deep to express.
She wasn’t angry at Jack.
She was angry at herself—for believing. For hoping. For thinking that love alone could be enough.
Alone Again
She sat in her room, the same walls now closing in like a prison.
She remembered her dream of being a makeup artist. The studio she would open. The tutorials she used to watch.
She remembered Jack’s promise to convert.
The way he used to say “I’ll do anything for you.”
How he made her believe she wasn’t alone.
And she remembered her family’s love—the “darling of the house” treatment that vanished overnight
Part 4: A Heart in Exile – Pain, Reflection, and the Voice Within
Days turned into weeks. Weeks folded into months.
The world outside Mahek’s home moved forward — festivals came and went, neighbors hosted weddings and celebrations, the weather shifted — but inside her room, time stood still.
She no longer counted the days.
She no longer asked questions.
The fire that once fueled her — to dream, to escape, to create a different life — had reduced to a flicker. Her body moved like a ghost around the house. She cooked when told. Cleaned when instructed. Sat quietly in the living room when guests came, her eyes lowered, her words minimal.
No one talked about Jack anymore. No one mentioned makeup or college or teaching. It was as though Mahek's past had been wiped clean — her life rewritten into something smaller, quieter, and completely controlled.
But deep within her, in a place even she had forgotten, a voice remained.
A voice that whispered.
A voice that remembered.
Inside Her Mind
At night, when everyone else slept, Mahek would sit by the window. It had no view — just a narrow glimpse of the lane outside — but it gave her something her family couldn’t: space to breathe.
She thought about everything — the laughter she once shared with Jack, the cruel words hurled at her by her family, the dreams she had abandoned without resistance.
Most of all, she thought about the question that haunted her endlessly:
“Whose fault was it?”
Was it her fault for falling in love?
Was it Jack’s fault for promising more than he could give?
Was it her parents’ fault for raising her in a world where love was a crime?
Or was it simply fate, cruel and unapologetic?
She tried writing again, just like she used to in her diary before things went wrong. But the words wouldn’t come. Her mind, once so full of color and poetry, felt grey now — like everything had been washed out in a storm.
The Unexpected Visit
One evening, her eldest cousin, Razia, visited. She was married and lived in another town, and unlike others, she had always been kind to Mahek.
They sat together in the courtyard, sipping tea in silence.
“You look different,” Razia said softly. “Quieter.”
Mahek didn’t respond.
After a long pause, Razia added, “You know, I loved someone once too. He wasn’t Muslim. He was my professor. I never told anyone. I just buried it and did what I was told.”
Mahek turned to look at her. This was the first time someone in her family had admitted something so… human.
“What happened to him?” Mahek asked.
“He moved abroad. He’s married now. So am I,” Razia smiled faintly. “We never spoke again.”
There was something in her voice — not sadness, but acceptance. A sort of strength Mahek hadn’t seen in a long time.
“You’re not the only one, Mahek,” she continued. “You’re just the one they found out about.”
Those words sank deep.
“You’re not the only one.”
That night, Mahek didn’t cry. For the first time in months, she felt… understood.
A Voice Rises
Slowly, Mahek began to reclaim tiny pieces of herself.
She asked for her books back.
She told her mother she wanted to finish her M.A. from home.
She even dared to bring out her old makeup pouch, the brushes dusty but still usable.
She didn’t announce anything. She didn’t need to.
One day, she stood in front of the mirror and applied eyeliner again after months — not to impress anyone, not to escape, but to remind herself that she still existed.
That the Mahek who once dreamed, once believed, once fought — was still inside her.
Maybe quieter now. Maybe bruised.
But not broken.
The Strength of Reflection
With time, Mahek realized something important:
Jack hadn’t saved her.
Her family hadn’t protected her.
No one had stood by her.
But she had survived.
And survival, she now knew, was not weakness. It was power.
She still didn’t have freedom. Her life was still limited. But her mind was hers again. Her spirit — even in silence — had begun to whisper again.
The Inner Shift
Mahek began writing again. Just a few lines a day. Small truths. Personal truths.
“A girl is not ruined because she loved.”
“A heart that breaks is still a heart that can beat again.”
“Even in exile, the soul remembers its name.”
She didn’t care whether anyone would read her words. She didn’t write for them anymore.
She wrote for herself.
Part 5: The Question Remains – But the Silence is Broken
Two years passed.
Mahek was no longer the girl who had dreamed of makeup studios and freedom. She had become what her family wanted—silent, obedient, invisible.
She completed her M.A. from home, as a formality. Not because anyone believed in her, but because education “looked good” for marriage proposals.
Her makeup brushes were packed away in a box beneath her bed. Her journal lay closed. Her phone remained monitored. And Jack? He had become a memory too distant to hurt, yet too real to forget.
No one spoke of the past. But Mahek felt its weight in every glance, every whispered conversation, every time someone called her “parivar ki badnaami.”
She had tried, once, to explain—to plead that she hadn’t committed a crime. That she had only loved.
But her words were swallowed by walls that had already decided she was guilty.
The Marriage
One morning, she was handed a photograph. A man with a beard, in his mid-thirties, from a distant village. He ran a small clothing business. He was “respectable”, “Muslim”, and most importantly—“willing.”
Mahek looked at the picture.
She had never seen him before.
“His name is Imran,” her mother said. “He will take care of you. He’s religious. You’ll be safe.”
Safe.
That word echoed bitterly in her heart.
Safe from what?
From love? From her dreams? From herself?
She wanted to scream. To say no. To run away.
But where would she go? Who would take her in?
Jack had long vanished. Her friends had married and moved on. Razia now avoided her, afraid to be associated with disgrace.
And so, Mahek agreed.
Not because she wanted to. But because she was tired.
Tired of being watched.
Tired of crying at night.
Tired of remembering what it felt like to believe.
A Life She Never Chose
The wedding was small. No music. No smiles.
Imran barely spoke to her on the first night. He was kind, in a distant sort of way. But he didn’t know her. He didn’t care to.
Their conversations were shallow. About meals. About household chores. About nothing that mattered to her.
She moved into his home, into a new set of walls. They were different from her father’s—but just as confining.
No one asked Mahek what she wanted anymore. Because everyone had already decided:
“She is married now. Her past is behind her.”
But Mahek knew. Her past wasn’t behind her.
It lived inside her, breathing quietly.
The Final Reflection
Every evening, Mahek would sit near the window in her new home. It looked out at another quiet lane, another sleepy town.
She’d hold a cup of tea and think of the girl she once was—the one who had dreams bigger than her circumstances, who had dared to love, to hope, to trust.
That girl was gone now.
But her question remained.
“Whose fault was it?”
Was it hers—for dreaming?
Jack’s—for giving up?
Her family’s—for controlling her?
Or was it the world—for teaching women that love is shame, that freedom is rebellion, that silence is virtue?
She didn’t know.
All she knew was that she had survived.
Not the way she wanted.
Not with triumph.
But with endurance.
And sometimes, that too, is a story worth telling.
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