The Perfect Bride Who Was Too Bright for the House

The Perfect Bride

BY:Khan

Aisha Nasir Khala had spent years searching for the perfect bride for her only son, Nabeel. She had scanned every lane, every household, every family gathering. Her sandals had worn thin with the endless rounds of matchmaking. Her feet were swollen, her back stiff like a board, yet not a single girl pleased her critical eyes.

One was too short, another too tall. One too plump, another frail as a dry twig. Some were too dark, others pale and lifeless like a turnip. From neighbors to distant cousins, she had examined them all—none matched the vision she had for her beloved son.

And why would they? For Nabeel was one in a million—smart, handsome, and highly educated. The only flaw in him was his fickle nature. He would land one job, grow restless within months, quit, and chase another, only to abandon that too. Yet to Khala, he was a gem, a prince who deserved nothing less than a piece of the moon.

That piece of moon finally appeared in the form of Anila.

Anila was the granddaughter of Khala’s distant uncle, the only sister of two brothers. She stood out in the family for her beauty and education. On top of that, her trousseau arrived in truckloads, filling every corner of Khala’s modest flat. The wedding was celebrated with all the usual festivity: dinners, parties, outings. For the first few weeks, Anila woke every morning, dressing up to perfection, waiting eagerly for Nabeel. Once he returned, they would freshen up and head out again for drives, dinners, or late-night strolls.

Khala’s snores would echo through the house by the time the couple returned at night.

But soon, Khala began to notice Anila’s habits—and not with much delight. The new bride seemed to care little for household chores. If Khala asked her to do something, she would reluctantly oblige, but never on her own initiative. The housework bored her; her interest remained in clothes, makeup, and outings.

One day, when Anila and Nabeel were leaving for yet another excursion, Khala couldn’t hold back.

“Daughter-in-law,” she said sharply, “you must take some interest in household work too. Life isn’t all about dressing up and wandering about with your husband.”

Nabeel stayed silent, eyes lowered. But Anila’s face tightened. Without a word, she stomped back to her room and slammed the door. That night, she boycotted dinner entirely.

Yet hunger is stronger than pride. By morning, she appeared at the breakfast table, lips still pouted, but stomach unwilling to stay empty. After the meal, Khala firmly assigned her some chores. Anila dragged herself through them, completing them half-heartedly before collapsing into a deep afternoon nap. Khala knocked several times on her door, but Anila remained lost in sleep, opening only when Nabeel returned in the evening.

For some days, Khala endured. But patience has its limits. Gradually, her words turned into sharp taunts: laziness, carelessness, idleness. Anila, who once bit her tongue, now snapped back.

Soon, Khala’s tiny flat became a battleground. Their daily arguments echoed through the walls, and the neighbors no longer needed television dramas—real entertainment was happening next door.

The woman living on the right, Shabnam, became the most curious spectator. She would listen keenly for the shouting matches, sometimes even pressing her ear against the wall. On days when no quarrel erupted, she peeked anxiously through her window, wondering if the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law had suddenly fallen ill.

Caught in the middle was poor Nabeel. Like a puppet, his strings pulled sometimes by his mother, other times by his wife. His silence made matters worse, as neither side felt supported.

The final explosion came one evening when tempers rose higher than ever before. Words sharper than knives flew between Khala and Anila. Even Shabnam, hardened by months of eavesdropping, felt her heart tremble at the intensity.

This time, Anila didn’t just sulk. She stormed into her room, gathered her clothes and belongings into bags, and dragged them out. Without waiting for Nabeel, she hailed a rickshaw from the street and left for her parents’ home.

The door slammed behind her, leaving Khala and Nabeel in stunned silence.

For the first time, Khala wondered if perhaps the moon she had brought home was too bright to fit within her small flat. And Nabeel, once the carefree, indecisive young man, stood watching the empty doorway—finally realizing that silence too had its price.