There was enthusiastic nodding at this. It did not escape Mariam that no mention was made of her half sisters Saideh or Naheed,
both her own age, both students in the Mehri School in Herat, both with plans to enroll in Kabul University.
Fifteen, evidently, was not a good, solid marrying age for them.
“What's more,” Nargis went on, “he too has had a great loss in his life.
His wife, we hear, died during childbirth ten years ago. And then, three years ago, his son drowned in a lake.”
“It's very sad, yes. He's been looking for a bride the last few years but hasn't found anyone suitable.”
“I don't want to,” Mariam said. She looked at Jalil. “I don't want this. Don't make me.”
She hated the sniffling, pleading tone of her voice but could not help it.
“Now, be reasonable, Mariam,” one of the wives said. Mariam was no longer keeping track of who was saying what.
She went on staring at Jalil, waiting for him to speak up, to say that none of this was true.
You can't spend the rest of your life here.” “Don't you want a family of your own?”
“Yes. A home, children of your own?” “You have to move on.”
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