The darkness of early morning still hugged the quiet streets. August 2007. The city slept, unaware of the small storm unfolding in one modest home.
Inside, the mother cried out, clutching her swollen belly. Each contraction wracked her body, and every step to the rickshaw was a struggle. This was their fourth child. After nine long years, they had been trying for another boy, but tonight, fate had its own plan.
At home, eleven-year-old Ahmed knelt on his prayer rug. His small hands pressed together, lips moving silently. "Please… let it be a girl," he whispered.
Not because he cared about having a sister. Deep down, he knew the truth—if it was a boy, his position as the favorite would be at risk. A girl, however, would leave him safely on top, still admired, still the one who mattered most.
His two younger sisters, nine and seven, watched quietly, sensing his tension but unaware of the selfish hope behind it.
Meanwhile, the rickshaw bounced along the dark streets, carrying their mother to the hospital. Her cries filled the air, a mix of pain and fear. Inside the operating room, the world became bright and harsh, every light slicing through the darkness of early morning.
And then—a cry.
Small, fragile, yet fiercely alive.
A girl.
The mother's eyes filled with tears as she held her newborn close. Ahmed, miles away at home, clenched his fists, heart twisting. Unaware his prayer had been answered. A girl. As he knew his sister was born he was filled with relief, excitement, and a secret, uneasy pride filled him. His place as the favorite was safe—for now.
Outside, the darkness faded into the pale light of dawn, unaware that a new life had just begun.
Her story had begun.
And her life… was still unwritten.