I won’t marry an uncle

I was a simple, straightforward man — never fond of arguments, never fond of fights. My world was small: office, home, and silence in between.

That night, I was returning late from work. The streets were deserted, shadows stretching under the dim yellow lights. I parked my bike near the gate when suddenly a cold barrel pressed against my head.

“Hand over your wallet and phone,” the boy hissed.

For a moment, my mind froze. Life flashed before me. Then I thought: life first, everything else later. Without resistance, I began to hand over my belongings.

Before I could finish, a sudden scream pierced the silence.

I turned. The boy who held the gun now lay groaning on the ground, clutching his head. Behind him stood Aiman... My little Scrappy

— clutching a hockey stick like a warrior.

“I saw from the window he was robbing you, so I came to help,” she said breathlessly.

My heart almost stopped. “Are you out of your mind? What if he had another partner? What if he had shot you?” My anger drowned out my fear.

She said nothing. Instead, she struck the boy again, this time in his back. Everyone around us gasped in disbelief.

Her eyes blazed. “The mistake was helping you,” she spat, chewing every word, and walked away, kicking the boy once more for good measure.

That night, I stood speechless, shaken — not by the robber, but by her audacity.

---

Days passed. She stopped talking to me. I brushed it aside, thinking she’d cool down.

One morning, my aunt asked, “Junaid , will you drop Aiman to school?”

Aiman rolled her eyes. “mom, I can go alone. You always trouble him.”

But I smiled. “No trouble. It’s on my way.”

On the bike, she sat stiffly, refusing to hold me. I turned slightly and said, “Hold on, or you’ll fall.” For once, she didn’t argue. Quietly, she placed her hand on my shoulder.

A smile tugged at my lips.

---

Another day, I entered home mid-conversation on my phone. I almost dropped it when my eyes caught sight of her.

She was strutting across the lounge, wrapped in my mother’s red sari, smiling like she owned the world.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe. My heart skipped a beat, and my lips curved into a helpless smile. The person on the phone kept saying, “Hello? Hello?” but I couldn’t hear.

That day, I realized — she was no longer a child.

Where did you disappear? I’ve been saying hello for so long…” came the voice from the other end of the line.

At that moment, I had no proper answer.

Still lost in her sight, I quietly tiptoed toward my room.

I was amazed — since when had she developed such girlish hobbies? But then, a strange happiness bloomed in me… At least, late or soon, she had finally awakened some feminine instincts within herself.

---

On her sixteenth birthday, Aiman's father arranged a party. She had still not forgiven me, and asked for nothing from me. Yet, when I went shopping, I found myself buying a red sari — the same color as the one she had once draped.

But courage failed me. Instead, I hid it in my wardrobe.

At the party, cousins teased me, “Junaid, today you’ll be struck by lightning!”

I laughed it off — until she appeared.

Dressed in a white net frock, her dupatta draped gracefully, her hair loose, her lips painted a fiery red… she looked nothing short of divine. When she accidentally bumped into me, her forehead brushing my back, time stood still.

Her eyes, though still resentful, met mine.

“Happy birthday,little Scrappy

,” I whispered, holding her hand.

“Thanks,” she said curtly.

“Anything else to say?” she pressed, raising her brow.

I shook my head.

“Then let go.” She pulled her hand away, leaving me unwilling and hollow.

When Aiman was cutting the cake, my eyes ignored everything else around me and circled only around her existence.

Today, unwillingly, I had to admit — my mother’s decision had not been wrong.

“This is your gift…” I hadn’t found a chance to give it to her in the hall. So, while we were returning home, I made Aiman sit behind me on the bike. All the cousins and relatives were riding their bikes ahead and behind us, so even on the way I couldn’t find the right moment.

Then suddenly, I sped up my bike — and reaching home first with Aiman, I seized the chance. She was just about to get down and leave when I quickly caught her wrist and pressed an envelope into her hand.

That envelope held my entire month’s salary.

“Why such anger? At least, one usually says thank you when receiving a gift…” She gave the envelope a strange look. There was something in her eyes in that fleeting moment, something I failed to read. She cast a glance full of quiet reproach in my direction, and then swiftly walked toward her house.

Her cold reaction was the last thing I had expected.

I had thought she would tear the envelope open immediately — like a child opening an Eidi envelope. Then, upon counting the money inside, her eyes would widen with surprise, and she’d let her wonder spill into words. But… Madam didn’t even bother to open it.

With my face fallen, I had barely turned away when the rest of the family’s bikes came to a stop outside my uncle’s house.

Everyone already knew that, for quite some time, there had been no communication between us.

That’s why, as soon as they arrived, all of them began questioning me with their eyes: “So… did it work out?”

But my mood had sunk miserably low. I ignored the unspoken questions rising in their gazes and turned my bike toward home.

****

As soon as she finished her matriculation exams, I expressed my desire to my mother for marriage—along with a small engagement ceremony, where I could slip a ring onto her finger with my name engraved on it.

I wanted her to know that she had been tied to my name since childhood.

I had so many dreams, the kind every bachelor boy harbors.

That year, I wanted to send her Eidi.

I felt completely at peace with my mother’s decision.

A few days after I voiced my wish, my parents went over to my uncle’s house to talk.

When I returned home from the office, I found my mother looking deeply upset.

“What happened, Mother?” I asked in worry, sitting beside her.

“Go on, rejoice! Distribute sweets! Your heart’s desire is about to come true…” My mother’s words burst forth like rain from a cloudless sky. I couldn’t make sense of why she was taunting me so bitterly.

“Father, is everything alright? What happened at Uncle’s house?” I turned toward him with anxious curiosity.

My father shook his head, speaking in a sorrowful tone:

“Aiman has flatly refused your proposal. She says she doesn’t like you at all. She wants to marry someone her own age—not an uncle like you…”

His words struck me like an atom bomb.

I had never imagined such a humiliating rejection from My little Scrappy..

“So… they broke off the engagement?” I asked hesitantly.

It seemed even my question was a crime—my mother exploded again in furious thunder.

“What’s the matter with you, Madam? Why are you venting your anger on him?” Father scolded her sharply.

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s always behaved so harshly with my niece. This was bound to happen. Now be happy—the engagement is breaking!” Mother hurled the words at me with bitter sarcasm before storming off to her room.

“Really?” I could barely form the word. My tongue felt heavy with dread.

“Your uncle hasn’t given a final answer yet… He said he won’t proceed without Aiman’s consent. He even apologized, admitting they made a mistake by engaging her at such a young age.” My father relayed my uncle’s almost-clear refusal and then walked outside.

I knew how beloved Aiman was. If she didn’t agree, the engagement would soon be broken.

Her words had left me wounded to the core. I tossed and turned in bed the entire night, unable to escape the torment.

I couldn’t share with anyone just how deeply I was suffering.

The very next morning, I received a call from my dearest friend and cousin, Shahzain. He was showering me with congratulations.

I couldn’t believe it—one call after another, all to congratulate me.

To the world, I was finally being freed from an unwanted engagement.

But within my heart, everything felt shattered, desolate.

I kept asking myself: for ten years I had longed to escape this bond, and now that it was breaking, why did I feel no joy? Why was sorrow clutching me instead?

Was it simply because Aiman was the one who broke it off? Perhaps my ego was wounded by the fact that the very girl I never even cared to glance at had dismissed me as “uncle.”

For now, my mother remained bitterly angry with me.

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that a girl like Aiman wouldn’t find a handsome man like me appealing.

With each passing day, my inner state grew heavier with grief. And because our houses faced each other, I often crossed paths with her.

She was shamelessly bold. She never averted her eyes when she saw me—in fact, she stared at me with such audacity, as if I had stolen her money and run away.

At times, her glare made me feel like a criminal.

****

It was a Sunday. I was casually checking my emails on the laptop when suddenly my eyes fell on a reply from a famous American company.

It was the same company I had applied to a few years back.

At that time, I desperately needed that job—not because of financial reasons, but because of the constant torment of that deadly bond which pierced straight into my soul.

The engagement hadn’t officially broken yet, but for me, there was no hope of survival left.

I quickly got all my documents ready and left for America.

One day, I was sitting alone in a restaurant, having dinner, when I received a call from Dad.

After the usual greetings, he said, “Son, Junaid… your uncle came over today…”

The moment he said that, my heart started racing. To be honest, I got really scared.

“W-why…?” I barely managed to utter those words.

“Well…”

Dad’s hesitation made me even more anxious.

“Actually… they want to end the engagement. They don’t want to force Aiman into this marriage. They think it’s better if everything ends amicably, with everyone’s consent, so that family ties don’t get ruined.”

Were those just words—or a bomb exploding? For a moment, I felt like darkness had swallowed everything around me. My mind went blank.

I knew my parents had already given their consent. I was only being formally informed.

Seriously? This is my life… and no one even asked me?

My mother played a cruel joke with my dreams. First, she got me engaged to a six-year-old girl, making me wait ten long years for her to blossom from a bud into a rose. And now, when she had finally become that rose… she thought I looked too old for her.

I didn’t even hear what Dad said after that. I just left the restaurant and went back to my apartment.

In the washroom, I don’t know why, but like a madman, I kept washing my face over and over. Every time I looked into the mirror, I examined myself with the same scrutiny as little Scrappy. Did I really look that old? Old enough for her to call me “uncle” and reject me for marriage?

I remained in deep shock for a whole week.

During that time, I stayed confined to my room, lying lifeless on the bed—unaware of day or night.

I wasn’t even sure about my own feelings anymore.

I had no idea when she had crept into the depths of my heart… when my dislike had turned into affection.

So many calls came from my family and relatives during this period, but I didn’t pick up a single one. Even my uncle called a couple of times.

Time is the greatest healer.

For an entire year, I cut off contact with everyone—even my parents. I was furious at my mother.

-----**

“I always thought you’d be happy once the engagement was broken… Weren’t you the one who used to insist to me again and again about ending it?”

I always read Dad’s emails, though I never replied. This time, he wrote that Mom had been very sick lately… and deeply saddened. He requested that I speak to her just once on the phone.

Hearing about her illness made my heart restless. For the first time, I dialed her number myself.

And her very first question plunged me into the deepest pit of shame.

At that moment, I wondered: why exactly was I angry with her? After all, sooner or later, I had gotten what I wanted. The only difference was… that delay had changed my desire entirely.

It wasn’t Mom who wanted to break the engagement. It was me.

Then why was I punishing her with my anger?

How could she have known about the transformation of my emotions?

“Do you know, Aiman…”

Before she could finish speaking about little Scrappy,I flared up in anger. I had run so far away because of her, and even here, I didn’t want to hear her name.

“Mom, please… don’t ever bring up that little Scrappy with me again.” I said firmly and ended the call.

I never found out what Mom had wanted to say about little Scrappy

And honestly, I didn’t even want to know.

Mom insisted on getting a new cellphone just to be able to video call me. Poor Dad, such a simple man—neither he nor Mom knew how to use these touchscreen phones or make video calls.

-------

One day, I was sitting in my office when suddenly a video call came from my uncle’s number.

For some reason, the very first thought that crossed my mind was of little Scrappy,

Without thinking twice, I accepted the call.

The moment it connected, my mother’s face appeared on the screen. My gaze froze right there. After one year and four months, I was seeing my mother again. It felt as if my restless heart had finally found peace.

My eyes welled up. I could feel my emotions scattering all over inside me.

I had never thought of myself as an emotional man. But in that moment… all I wanted was to break down and weep.

With great difficulty, I held myself together.

On the other end, my mother burst into tears the moment she saw me, crying uncontrollably.

After a while, my eyes wandered to the room behind her—it was little Scrappy's room.

I instantly understood… she was the one who had dialed the call for my mother.

****-----*****

Today, on the call, my mother told me that if there was any girl I had in mind, I should tell her. She would happily take a proposal for me.

Since then, I have been standing silently by the window, lost in thought… realizing something for the first time: just how honest I truly am.

After that unwanted engagement, I had never so much as lifted my eyes toward another woman—let alone kept anyone “in mind.”

I burned with jealousy, I suffered with envy… but my gaze always remained fixed only on little Scrappy.

And now… what could I possibly tell my mother?

If only she had said those words to me twelve years ago… I wouldn’t be in such agony today.

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