Dreams with Conditions

Alia was fifteen when she first said it out loud.

“I want to do something big.”

It wasn’t a plan.
Not yet.
It was just a feeling.
A quiet belief that her life could be… more.
She didn’t know what “big” meant exactly.
But she knew one thing—
She didn’t want a life that felt small.
That evening, while helping her mother in the kitchen, she said it again.
More clearly this time.
“Ammi, I think I want to become something… different.”
Her mother didn’t look up.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… maybe something in science… or maybe something where I can travel… or—”
Her mother interrupted gently,
“First learn to manage the house properly.”
Alia paused.
“I can do both.”
Her mother smiled.
Not dismissive.
But certain.
“Everyone says that at this age.”
The conversation ended there.
Not with rejection.
But with redirection.
That night, Alia lay awake longer than usual.
She wasn’t discouraged.
Not yet.
She thought:
Maybe I just need to explain better.
A few days later, her school organized a career guidance session.
Different professionals spoke about different paths.
Doctors. Engineers. Designers.
One woman spoke about working in research.
She talked about:
• Ideas
• Discovery
• Independence
Alia listened carefully.
For the first time, a path felt real.
That evening, she spoke to her father.
“Abbu, I want to take science seriously. Maybe even go into research.”
Her father looked at her.
Not surprised.
Not impressed.
Just… practical.
“Science is fine,” he said.
“But don’t think too far.”
Alia frowned slightly.
“What do you mean?”
“Study well. Get a good degree. That’s enough.”
“And after that?”
He shrugged.
“We’ll see.”
That “we” stayed with her.
Not you will see.
Not you will decide.
We will see.
Days passed.
Conversations continued.
Relatives started visiting more often.
And with them came opinions.
One afternoon, while serving tea, she overheard:
“She’s growing up now.”
“Yes… time flies.”
“You should start thinking about her future.”
Her mother nodded.
“We are.”
Alia stood there.
Quiet.
Listening.
Future.
They were talking about her future.
Without her.
Later that evening, she asked,
“What were you discussing?”
Her mother replied casually,
“Nothing important.”
A pause.
Then—
“We were just talking about your marriage… in the future.”
Alia felt something tighten inside.
“Marriage? Already?”
“Not now,” her mother said.
“But we have to think ahead.”
“I haven’t even decided what I want to do yet.”
Her father, who was listening from the side, spoke calmly,
“You can study. No one is stopping you.”
Relief flickered.
Then he added,
“But everything should happen at the right time.”
“What is the right time?” Alia asked.
No one answered directly.
Instead, her aunt, who had joined in, smiled and said,
“Beta, girls can do everything… but within limits.”
Limits.
That word didn’t come with a definition.
But it came with understanding.
Alia tried again.
More carefully this time.
“If I get an opportunity outside the city… can I go?”
Silence.
Her mother looked at her father.
Her father looked away.
Finally, he said,
“Why do you need to go outside?”
“For studies… for better opportunities…”
“You can study here.”
“But what if—”
He interrupted.
“Don’t think unnecessarily.”
The conversation ended.
Just like that.
That night, Alia didn’t cry.
She didn’t argue.
She just sat with a notebook in front of her.
She wrote:
“What do I want?”
Then below it:
“What is allowed?”
The two lists didn’t match.
Not even a little.
That was the first time she realized something clearly.
Her dreams were not denied.
They were… filtered.
Adjusted.
Reshaped into something acceptable.
Over time, she started doing it herself.
Before saying anything out loud, she would think:
“Is this too much?”

“Will this be allowed?”
“Should I say this?”
Her dreams became smaller.
Safer.
Quieter.
Not because she stopped dreaming.
But because she learned…
Not every dream was meant to be spoken.