DANGIN RABI

About this Novel

On a rainy Saturday night around 11 o'clock, with strong winds howling, my mother, whom I affectionately call Aya, secured our house by closing the door tightly. I found myself outside, desperately knocking and calling out to her, but she couldn't hear me. It felt like an impenetrable barrier separated us. In my haste, I made a promise in a bid to get her to open the door, "I solemnly agree, Mother. I'll marry as you wish. I'll follow the path of tradition. Please, have patience, Mother." My plea worked, and she reluctantly opened the door to let me in. As I entered the house, she quickly closed the door behind me. I changed out of my wet clothes and dried them. Aya handed me a towel, advising me not to catch a cold. I accepted it, but my heart was heavy. She then shared her perspective on marriage, urging me not to be too patient when it comes to finding a spouse. She emphasized that waiting too long, especially without love or in the face of poverty and hardship, might not be wise. Tears welled up in my eyes as I listened to her. I responded, acknowledging her viewpoint. However, I couldn't help but express my frustration.