🌸 Chapter 1 – The Beginning of a Curse
In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
My name is Shumaisa Riaz, and I am 18 years old.
This is the first creation of my life — a dream that finally took the shape of a book.
My novel “My Face Was My Crime” is not just a story. It is a reflection of my emotions, my observations, and the bitter truths of our society.
Since childhood, I’ve always been drawn to words — sometimes two lines in my diary, sometimes a few sentences on a notebook page. I never thought these scattered words would one day become a story. But today, holding this book in my hands, it feels as if my dream has come true.
This story is not only about Amna.
It is about every girl who was judged, mocked, or rejected because of her face, her color, or her circumstances.
Those who kept crying quietly but were always blamed.
In Amna’s character, I have captured the pain of all those silent souls.
My only wish is that this novel doesn’t remain just a story —
but becomes a mirror through which our society can see its real face.
And maybe, just maybe, it touches a heart deeply enough to make someone realize what we are doing to our daughters, sisters, and women.
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🌷 Preface
“My Face Was My Crime” tells the story of a world where a person’s worth is not defined by their heart, but by their skin, their class, and their circumstances.
It’s the story of Amna, a girl who wished for nothing more than a little peace, a little respect, and a glimpse of love.
But every chapter of her life was written with pain.
This book is not just fiction — it’s a mirror.
A mirror where you’ll see the tears of thousands of girls reflected through Amna’s eyes.
Every cry, every scream that was silenced — still lives here within these pages.
This is my first effort. There may be flaws, maybe imperfections in words,
but I believe the pain of this story will reach your heart.
And if this story gives courage to even one soul or changes even one mind,
then I’ll consider my purpose fulfilled.
— Shumaisa Riaz
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🌙 Part 1 – The Beginning
It was that time when Eliza was going through the most delicate phase of her life.
Nine months of struggle had exhausted her body, but her heart still carried light and hope.
The house was filled with happiness. Every corner echoed with laughter, every heart waited for the new life to arrive.
Eliza already had two children — Iqra and Hamza.
Iqra, the elder one — graceful, gentle, and wise beyond her years.
She spoke softly, understood deeply, and her silence carried meaning.
She was her mother’s comfort, her father’s peace, and her brother’s protector.
Hamza — the youngest, the mischievous heartbeat of the home.
His laughter filled the air, his innocent demands made everyone smile.
He would often cling to his mother’s neck as if her arms were his whole world.
Now, everyone was waiting for the new baby.
Iqra prayed for a sister, while Hamza wished for a brother.
In those innocent wishes, time itself seemed to pause.
Eliza’s face was pale and tired, but her eyes still shone with a mother’s calm and courage.
The moment was near — the moment when a new soul would take its first breath.
Then that night came…
Pain tore through her body; her cries echoed through the silence.
The family rushed to the hospital — trembling hands, whispered prayers, tearful eyes.
The white hospital corridors were heavy with silence.
Every second stretched endlessly, every heartbeat waited for good news.
Then, the doctor appeared — her face serious, her voice low.
“The baby’s condition is critical,” she said.
The words shattered everyone.
Iqra’s eyes filled with tears; little Hamza held his uncle tightly and asked in his trembling voice,
“Mama will be fine, right? Will I get a sister or a brother?”
No one had an answer.
Minutes felt like years… until suddenly — a sound filled the air.
A faint cry — fragile, yet full of life.
“She’s alive… a baby girl.”
Relief flooded the room; whispers of Alhamdulillah spread softly.
But before joy could fully bloom, before the adhan could be called into her tiny ear —
someone whispered words that froze every smile:
> “She’s dark…”
And in that single moment, before she even opened her eyes,
the world had already rejected her.
The innocent child who had done nothing wrong —
her only crime was her face. 💔
