The wedding dress felt like chains around Zara’s body. She stood in the small, dusty room behind the community hall, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror.
The dress was simple white cotton. Nothing special, nothing beautiful, just something her aunt had found at the market for cheap.
But that wasn’t what made her want to cry. Today she was being forced to marry a homeless man.
A beggar her family had found living under the bridge near the market. A man with torn clothes and dirty hands.
A man who smelled like the streets and had nothing to his name except a tattered blanket and a cup for collecting coins.
Her family said it was her punishment. Punishment for refusing to marry the wealthy merchant who had offered a bride price.
Punishment for wanting to finish her university degree instead of becoming someone’s third wife. Punishment for having dreams that were too big for a girl from a poor family.
“If you think you are too good for a respectable man with money,” her uncle had said, his eyes cold and hard, then you can marry a man with nothing.
“Let us see how proud you are when you are begging on the streets with him.”
Zara<unk>’s hands trembled as she touched the simple veil on her head. She was 23 years old.
She had been two semesters away from finishing her degree in education. She had wanted to be a teacher to help children learn and grow to make something of her life.
