A Silent Cry

A Silent Cry

BY:Khan

The delicate essence of a woman is often compared to fragility—so fragile that when she breaks, the world hears no sound. Yet in our society, she is labeled as incomplete of mind, dismissed as incapable of wisdom. How tragic, I thought, when it is often a woman’s presence that stands behind the success of every man.

But is a woman’s existence only for bearing children? Is that the only reason a man seeks a wife? That evening, I had promised myself I would finally ask Nadim why he always treated me as if I lacked intelligence. Why did he never believe I could offer him good advice? Whenever life grew heavy and I tried to guide him, his reply was always the same: “What do you know? Women are born foolish.”

Lost in these thoughts, I heard the familiar knock at the door. Nadim’s style of knocking was unique—I could always tell it was him. I opened the door with a soft smile.

“You’re back?” I asked.

“No, I’m still at the shop,” he snapped.

“Why so angry, Nadim?”

“You ask silly questions. Shouldn’t I be angry?”

He pushed his motorcycle inside. I locked the gate and walked quietly into the kitchen. By now, I had grown used to his harsh tone. It no longer stung the way it once did, though at times it still hurt. Carrying his dinner to the bedroom, I found him surrounded by smoke—four cigarette butts already in the ashtray, a fifth between his fingers.

Placing the food on the bed, I said gently, “Do you realize how harmful cigarettes are for you?”

“At least I know more than you about that,” he muttered.

“Yet you still don’t quit,” I sighed.

“You don’t know how many worries I have.”

“Is smoking really the only solution?”

He glared at me. “What do you want now?”

“Your sweat smells more because of these cigarettes,” I said carefully.

“Oh, so now you’re saying I stink?”

“You twist my words, Nadim. That’s not what I mean.”

“You say nonsense, and I’m not supposed to find meaning in it?”

“Why can’t you ever take my words positively?”

He leaned forward, anger flashing. “Shazia, the children are grown now. I don’t like raising my hand in front of them. Don’t force me.”

His words froze me. I left silently, served the children their food, and sat alone in thought. How different everything had seemed before marriage. I had so many dreams. But with Nadim, every attempt to share my feelings was dragged into the dust of old traditions.

Would he ever try to understand me? The children were growing, their future needed planning, yet Nadim always fell back on excuses—“Our parents never planned for us, and we still survived.” But was mere survival enough?

Evening melted into night. Nadim’s voice broke my thoughts:

“Shazia, come here.”

I entered the room.

“What are the children doing?” he asked.

“Watching television.”

“Close the door.”

I hesitated. “Nadim, wait. The children are older now. Such things before them… it leaves a bad impression.”

His face darkened. “Why don’t you say it clearly—that you no longer want me! Stop making excuses.”

“It’s not about wanting or not wanting. You are my husband; it’s your right. But please, try to understand.”

“Oh, so now I don’t even care for my children?”

“I never said that.”

The conversation ended in anger.


---

The next morning, after sending the children to school, I prepared Nadim’s breakfast. When I entered the room, he was already awake, puffing cigarette after cigarette.

“Why are you destroying yourself like this? Please, smoke less,” I pleaded.

“You don’t understand my troubles,” he said bitterly.

“Why do you think I can’t feel your worries?” I replied.

He laughed sarcastically. “If you did, you’d also be smoking by now.”

“Nadim, is this really the solution? If not cigarettes, then what else?”

“Then tell me. What’s your solution?” he challenged.

I looked at him, weary but firm. “I warned you when you first started this business, but you never listened. If you had planned properly, if you had taken a policy for our daughter’s future, we wouldn’t be in such financial distress now. Ten years have passed since Nadiya was born. Soon another ten will vanish, and we will still be unprepared. You never take my advice seriously.”

He smirked. “Do you know why? Because women are created foolish.”

His words struck like a hammer. My tongue froze; silence became my shield. He left for the bathroom, and when he returned, I asked softly, “Nadim, what does it mean to have a partner in life?”

He chuckled mischievously. “Didn’t I explain that last night?”

And in that moment, I understood: in our world, men are taught that women are weak, but no one teaches what makes a good wife—or what it means to share life as equals. Until Nadim understood the true meaning of companionship, our lives would remain unchanged.