At fourteen, I was almost married off, an age that was, culturally, normal for girls to be considered brides. I remember it so clearly. It was the first time I truly felt afraid, the first time anxiety took up space in my chest, the first time I felt really, really, really angry.
Up until then, I was just a regular teenager. First year of high school. I had dreams that shifted shape every few weeks, but at least I had them. I dreamed, and that was enough.
Looking back, it was the anger that stayed with me the longest. I was angry at my father for even considering it. Angry at my mother for being silent. My mother, who was never quiet. She was the reason I even dared to dream. She raised me to believe I could be something more, even as the culture around us tried to convince girls we were born to be wives, to carry babies, to shrink ourselves.
But my mother was different. Still is. A businesswoman. Bold. Sharp with her words. She carried herself like someone who demanded respect , and got it regardless of the audience. She never blended in. She rewrote the rules. She challenged the norms. So when she said nothing, it shook me. Her silence scared me. It made me furious. Really, really furious.
I remember whispering desperate deals to God. Promising anything, everything, if He would just save me from this. Because in that moment, I couldn’t count on anyone.
After a few days that felt like months, with my life hanging on the edge, my mother came to me with a proposal: boarding school. She asked me what I dreamed of, if I still wanted to study. Then, she gave me a list of schools to choose from. I didn’t hesitate. I said yes, and by the end of that very week, I was ready to go.
It was the first time I left home. Maybe that’s what prepared me to be living across the globe from them now. I knew I would miss them dearly, especially my siblings. But to me pursuing my education and not having my wings snipped at that age meant the world to me.
That moment taught me something valuable. Even though my mother couldn’t undo cultural norms or reshape our family dynamics overnight, even though she couldn’t single-handedly dismantle the misogyny that was woven into the fabric of our world , she stood by me. She chose to remove me from an environment that would rob me of the dreams I dared to hold.
For that, I was grateful. First to God, then to her.
That was the first of many times she would show up for me and my dreams. She taught me the power of a woman having her own money, and what that meant for the people depending on her, that they would be fed, sheltered, educated, and most importantly, allowed to dream too.
Now in my mid-twenties, when people ask me what I wanted to be growing up, I tell them: I just wanted to make my mother proud , and I still do. They often smile, thinking I’m being sentimental, but that was the truth. That is the truth. That has been the dream all along.
To the woman who let me dream: I will give you the whole world one day , piece by piece, prayer by prayer, until every sacrifice you made is returned in double. You planted the seed in me long ago, and I promise, when it blooms, the first flowers will be for you.
Your Qareen 
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