UNWRITTEN

CHAPTER 1

The House of Unspoken Rules

“Some houses are built with walls. Others are built with traditions that nobody dares to question.”

Qur’anic Reflection

“O mankind, fear your Lord, who created you from a single soul...”

— Surah An-Nisa (4:1)

The morning sun slipped through the carved wooden windows of an old house in Lahore, spreading warm light across the courtyard. A few potted plants stood neatly along the brick walls, their leaves moving gently in the morning breeze. The house was neither remarkably large nor modern, but it carried a presence of its own.

Every corner held memories. Every room echoed with familiar voices. And every generation had added something to its collection of unwritten traditions.

It was the home of a traditional Syed family.

Here, respect was expected. Family honour was carefully protected. Traditions were followed, often without anyone asking why.

At least, that was how things had always been.

The clanking of utensils echoed from the kitchen.

“Fatima! Khadija! Nashta tayyar hua ya abhi tak tum dono ki baatein khatam nahi hui?” their mother called.

Fatima stood near the dining table, arranging cups and plates. Khadija, meanwhile, was searching through the kitchen drawers.

“Api, chamach kahan gaya?” Khadija asked, moving a few spoons aside.

Fatima glanced at her hand and raised an eyebrow.

“Tumhare haath mein hi toh hai.”

Khadija looked down. For a second, she stared at the spoon before bursting into laughter.

“Achha! Mujhe laga doosra wala dhoondh rahi hoon.”

Fatima shook her head, smiling. “Allah, tum bhi na!”

Their mother appeared at the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her dupatta.

“Bas bhi karo tum dono. Ja kar Ahsan aur Najam ko bulao. Nashta thanda ho raha hai.”

“Ji, Ammi,” Fatima replied, immediately picking up the tea tray.

Upstairs, Muntha sat beside her bedroom window. Her notebook lay open on the study table, but her attention was fixed on the phone in her hand.

She had read the same university notification three times already.

She had been selected to present her work at the departmental research seminar.

For someone else, it might have been an ordinary university announcement. For Muntha, it was something much bigger.

Her professor had personally appreciated her analytical skills and encouraged her to participate. She had spent days working on her research, checking references and improving her arguments. Now, she finally had an opportunity to present her work.

A small smile appeared on her face.

“Finally,” she whispered.

She read the notification once more, almost as if she wanted to make sure it was real.

Muntha loved learning. She enjoyed books, thoughtful discussions and the quiet satisfaction of understanding something difficult. She had many dreams, but most of them remained hidden behind the ordinary routine of her days.

Her phone vibrated again. She quickly saved the notification and slipped it into her bag.

“Muntha! Jaldi neeche aao!” her mother’s voice travelled up the stairs.

“Ji, Ammi! Aa rahi hoon.”

She adjusted her dupatta, picked up her bag and headed downstairs.

“Assalam-o-Alaikum, Ammi.”

“Wa-Alaikum-Assalam. Itni dair kyun laga di? Sab tumhara intezar kar rahe hain.”

Muntha pulled out a chair. “Sorry, Ammi. Bas ek kaam kar rahi thi.”

“Har waqt koi na koi kaam hota hai tumhara. Chalo, nashta karo.”

At the dining table, Ahsan was scrolling through his phone while Najam leaned back in his chair, waiting for his tea.

“Muntha, zara chai dena,” Najam said, without looking up.

Muntha glanced at the teapot sitting right beside him.

“Najam bhai, chai aapke bilkul paas rakhi hai.”

Najam finally looked up and gave her a playful smile.

“Toh kya hua? Behen se ek chhota sa kaam bhi nahi keh sakta?”

Muntha pushed the teapot slightly towards him.

“Kaam keh sakte hain, lekin jab cheez paas ho toh khud bhi uthai ja sakti hai.”

Najam chuckled. “Wah! Aaj toh madam ka mood hi alag hai.”

Ahsan shook his head, hiding a smile behind his cup.

“Tum dono subah subah shuru ho jaate ho.”

Their mother placed a plate in front of Muntha and gave her a disapproving look.

“Muntha, larkiyon ko har baat ka jawab dena achha nahi lagta. Thora chup rehna bhi seekho.”

Muntha’s smile slowly disappeared. She lowered her eyes and picked up her spoon.

“Ji, Ammi.”

It was not the first time she had heard those words. In fact, she knew them so well that she could almost predict when they would come.

Breakfast continued.

Ahsan mentioned his busy university schedule, while Najam talked about meeting his friends later that evening.

Their mother listened with interest.

“Achha, lekin zyada dair mat karna. Aur phone paas rakhna.”

“Ji, Ammi. Don’t worry,” Ahsan replied casually.

Muntha looked at her brothers for a moment. She had something to share too, but she was unsure how to begin.

She placed her spoon down.

“Ammi, mujhe aapse ek baat karni thi.”

Her mother glanced at her. “Kya baat hai?”

“Hamare department mein research presentation ho rahi hai. Meri professor ne mujhe participate karne ke liye select kiya hai.”

Her mother’s expression softened slightly.

“Achha? Ye toh achhi baat hai. Lekin poochna kya hai?”

Muntha straightened a little in her chair.

“Presentation ke baad academic discussion session bhi hoga. University campus mein hi hai, lekin programme thora late khatam hoga. Around five o’clock.”

Her mother’s expression changed.

“Paanch bajay?”

Muntha nodded.

“Ji, Ammi. Faculty members aur doosre students bhi honge. It’s an official university event.”

“Muntha, tum ghar ke halaat aur riwayaat jaanti ho. Larkiyon ka itni dair bahar rehna achha nahi lagta.”

“Lekin Ammi, ye koi outing nahi hai. Ye meri studies ka—”

“Main ne keh diya na, Muntha. Is baat ko yahin khatam karo.”

The words fell between them like a closed door.

Fatima, who had been quietly listening, glanced at her younger sister. Her fingers paused around her teacup, but she said nothing.

Muntha looked down at her plate.

She had not asked to attend a party. She had not asked to travel with friends. She had simply asked to participate in an academic opportunity she had worked hard to earn.

And still, she had to explain why it mattered.

Ahsan pushed his chair back and stood up, picking up his car keys.

“Ammi, main university ja raha hoon. Wapsi par dost ke paas bhi ruk sakta hoon.”

“Achha, beta. Allah kamyab kare. Aur gaari araam se chalana.”

“Ji, Ammi.”

Najam picked up his phone and followed him.

“Main bhi Ahsan bhai ke saath ja raha hoon.”

“Jao, beta. Apna khayal rakhna.”

Muntha watched them leave. Her gaze remained fixed on the doorway for a few seconds after it had closed.

She wondered how easily her brothers could make plans, while her own academic opportunity required an entire discussion.

She wanted to say something.

But the words stayed somewhere between her thoughts and her lips.

She quietly picked up her bag.

Beyond the Gate

Muntha was arranging her books when Fatima stepped into her room.

“Muntha, bag pack ho gaya?”

Muntha looked up from her notebook.

“Ji, Api.”

Fatima noticed the university notification still open on her phone.

“Ye presentation wali notification hai?”

Muntha nodded.

“Ji. Mam ne khud mera naam suggest kiya tha.”

Fatima walked closer and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m happy for you. Tum ne mehnat ki hai.”

Muntha gave her a small smile.

“Lekin faida kya? Ammi allow hi nahi karengi.”

“Abhi unka mood theek nahi tha. Baad mein dobara baat kar lena.”

Muntha closed her notebook and looked at her sister.

“Api, aap jaanti hain unka jawab kya hoga.”

Fatima remained quiet for a moment. Then she gently adjusted the corner of Muntha’s dupatta.

“Muntha, har baat ek din mein solve nahi hoti. Kabhi kabhi sabr se kaam lena parta hai.”

Muntha looked down at her hands.

“Main sabr kar sakti hoon, Api. Lekin har dafa apne khwab chhor dena hi kya sabr hota hai?”

Fatima’s hand stopped.

For a moment, she had no answer.

Her eyes moved towards the bookshelf near the window. Years ago, she had kept notebooks filled with plans of her own. Some pages were still there, but the dreams written on them had slowly become memories.

She looked back at Muntha.

“Apne khwab mat chhorna,” she said softly. “Bas unhein poora karne ka sahi waqt aur tareeqa seekho.”

Muntha gave a faint smile.

“Kaash sahi waqt khud bhi aa jaya kare.”

Fatima smiled sadly and stood up.

“Chalo, ab late ho raha hai. Allah Hafiz.”

“Allah Hafiz, Api.”

As Muntha stepped outside the house, she adjusted the strap of her bag and took a deep breath.

The familiar streets of Lahore were already busy. Cars moved through the morning traffic, shopkeepers were opening their shutters, and students hurried towards their colleges and universities.

By the time she reached campus, her mood had begun to change.

Here, questions were welcomed. Different opinions were discussed. Students could disagree with one another without being accused of disrespect.

“Muntha!”

She turned towards the familiar voice.

Hania was standing near the hallway, waving enthusiastically.

“Finally! I thought tum aaj nahi aaogi.”

Muntha walked towards her, smiling.

“Why would I miss classes?”

Hania laughed.

“Because you practically live in your books!”

“Very funny.”

Hania leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“Achha, tell me something. Presentation ke liye select hui ho na?”

Muntha’s face brightened.

“Yes!”

“Muntha, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Thank you.”

Hania lightly touched her arm.

“Then why don’t you look excited enough?”

Muntha’s smile became smaller.

“There’s a timing issue. The discussion session ends around five, and Ammi isn’t comfortable with me staying that late.”

Hania’s expression turned serious.

“Oh. But it’s an official university event, right?”

“Exactly. I’ve tried explaining that.”

“I hope they understand. You worked hard for this.”

Muntha nodded.

“I hope so too.”

The university bell rang, and both girls headed towards their classroom.

For the rest of the morning, surrounded by lectures, books and academic discussions, Muntha felt like an ambitious student with a future full of possibilities.

For a few hours, she was not the daughter who needed permission for every plan.

She was simply Muntha.

And that feeling meant more to her than she could explain.

A Father’s Decision

By evening, the family had gathered around the dining table.

Their father, a quiet and principled man, sat at the head of the table. He valued education and respected tradition, although he did not always agree with the way every tradition was practised. He rarely spoke unnecessarily, but his decisions carried weight in the house.

Ahsan was talking about his plans for the weekend.

“Abbu, main soch raha tha weekend par doston ke saath out of town chala jaoon.”

His father looked up from his plate.

“Studies ka kya schedule hai?”

“Abhi assignments complete hain. Monday se classes hain.”

His father nodded.

“Theek hai. Lekin apni zimmedariyon ka khayal rakhna.”

“Ji, Abbu.”

Muntha had been waiting for a chance to speak. She glanced at her father, then at her mother, who was serving food.

She took a breath.

“Abbu?”

He looked towards her.

“Ji, beta?”

“University mein research presentation hai. Meri supervisor ne mujhe present karne ke liye select kiya hai.”

Her father put down his spoon.

“Achha? Kis topic par research ki hai?”

Muntha began explaining her work. At first, her voice was slightly hesitant, but as she described her research, her confidence returned. She explained what she had studied, why the topic mattered and how much effort she had put into preparing the presentation.

Her father listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he nodded approvingly.

“Very good. Ye opportunities milti hain toh inhein seriously lena chahiye. Insaan ka confidence barhta hai.”

Muntha’s face lit up.

“Thank you, Abbu.”

Before she could say anything else, her mother placed the water jug on the table. The sound was sharper than necessary.

“Pehle is se timing toh pooch lein. Isay shayad samajh nahi ke larki ko kis waqt ghar wapas aana chahiye.”

Muntha’s smile faded.

Her father looked at her.

“Programme kitne bajay khatam hoga?”

“Paanch bajay ke qareeb, Abbu. Main campus ke auditorium mein hi hoongi.”

Her mother immediately responded.

“Main pehle hi keh chuki hoon. Larkiyon ka itni dair rukna theek nahi. Log baatein banate hain.”

She adjusted the edge of her dupatta and continued serving the food.

“Duniya ko jawab dena aasaan nahi hota.”

Her father remained quiet for a moment. He looked at Muntha, who was now waiting for his response.

“Dekho, taleem zaroori hai. Lekin tumhari Ammi ki fikr ko bhi samajhna chahiye. Kal mujhe university ka official schedule dikha dena. Phir baat karte hain.”

Muntha nodded.

“Ji, Abbu.”

It was not permission.

But it was not a refusal either.

For now, she held on to that small possibility.

A Page of Her Own

Late that night, the house slowly settled into silence.

The courtyard lights had been switched off, and only a faint glow from the street entered through the windows. Somewhere outside, a vehicle passed, its sound fading into the quiet streets of Lahore.

Muntha sat at her study desk.

She opened her leather-bound diary and ran her fingers over the first page. A sentence she had written months ago was still there:

I want to become someone whose decisions are respected.

She stared at it for a few seconds before turning to a blank page.

Picking up her pen, she began to write.

Dear Diary,

I don’t know when a simple academic dream became something that required a defence.

I don’t wish to disrespect my parents. I don’t want to turn away from my family, and I don’t want a life without values. I only want to understand why the rules seem different for daughters and sons.

Why is a brother’s freedom called trust, while a daughter’s freedom is treated as a risk? Why must a girl explain every step, even when she knows her intentions are right?

I love my family. I love my faith and my heritage. But being a good daughter shouldn’t mean constantly making my dreams smaller.

Sometimes I wonder whether they can see how much I want to achieve something of my own.

I hope one day they understand that having dreams doesn’t make me disobedient. It simply makes me human.

She stopped writing.

The pen remained between her fingers as she read the last sentence again.

Then she closed the diary and turned towards the shelf where her Qur’an rested.

She picked it up carefully and held it for a moment. Her thoughts returned to the verse from Surah An-Nisa that she had reflected upon that morning—the reminder that humanity shares a common origin, created by one Lord.

She did not want to fight her family.

She wanted to be heard.

And perhaps, more than anything, she wanted the people she loved to understand that her dreams were not a rejection of them.

Muntha placed the Qur’an back on the shelf and switched off her desk lamp.

Tomorrow would probably be another ordinary day. The same house. The same voices. The same familiar rules.

But something inside her had begun to change.

She was no longer questioning only the rules around her.

She was beginning to question why she had always been expected to accept them without a word.

Every real change begins with a question someone finally dares to ask.

Muntha didn’t know it yet, but her story was waiting to be written.

And this time, she would be the one holding the pen.