[Winner of Junior Division] Deserving Happiness

It was 12 am. Midnight, or the time every girl in my family had to be in our rooms, safely tucked away behind four walls. It was just Haniya and me out alone in the street, two girls escaping that expectation to blatantly complain about our families. 

"I mean, how could she even say that about her own daughter?" I blurt out, being so out of breath from my angry ranting. After having to keep that in all day, it came out bitter and vengeful. A part of me didn't care to reconsider my wording because maybe it was as bitter and vengeful as it sounds. 

"Right?!" Haniya replies while nudging my arm to pull us into a slow-paced walk. I continued talking, laying out every detail, praying that my frustration would be reciprocated. 

"And she kept saying it over and over again." I pause and almost consider crying—to seem more pitiful—to not look like an ungrateful daughter complaining about a mindless thing. 

I contain my disgusted expression, realizing how bad that idea sounds. 

But then I continue. 

"She looked at me and said, 'I don't think you deserve happiness. I better not see you happy." She just stares back for a second. "That's messed up." After saying it out loud, it feels like my face is hot with anger. 

We pass by a pair of kids playing in front of their house, which is unusual for so late at night, and suddenly I wanted to play a prank, something stupid. 

We tried to scare those kids by telling them to be aware of ghosts, with my cousin laughing creepily in the background. Their sullen faces of no fear or reaction, just an offended stare back, made us cackle in a mix of embarrassment and amusement. 

I start running away, laughing and tripping along the way. We both ran sloppily, stopping every few seconds to catch our breath and laugh out loud even more. 

For the first time I didn't have to care about how I looked. My dupatta had slipped from my head and almost down my shoulder, my hair escaping from its ponytail to whip my face. Our laughs echoed throughout the entire street. 

Despite that, the years of rules and conditions from my family played in the back of my mind. "Cover your head and chest!" From my mother. 

"Nice girls don't run like that!" From my grandmother.

"Don't be so giddy!" said my dad and his brother. "A girl's voice should not be heard outside her house." 

But I didn't care to fix anything. Haniya looks at me before we start running even faster. It wasn't just running to me, so for a second I swore I had grown wings. We passed some men on motorcycles giving us dirty looks, but we laughed even louder at them. 

The whole night felt terrifying, not because of the dark and empty streets with flickering lights but because of the fear that a family member would appear out from around the corner, catching us in the act. But it felt magical too. 

Blood rushed through my ears, and my heart was thumping violently. It was also the most alive my body had been in a while. 

Streets passed by in a blur around us, and when we finally reached the main road, we stopped to take a breath. 

"You know you're my favorite cousin, right?" A huge smile spread on her face, and I knew she'd had just as much stupid fun as I had. 

"Of course," I replied while untangling and ridding the scarf from my neck. It was like taking off heavy chains. Even Haniya doesn't bother to obsessively fix her scarf like she normally does. 

"Let's do that again!" She grabs my hand as we run in the middle of the road. Something immature she never would have done before. 

I had never known Pakistan could have such cool and strong winds; it was always burning sunshine raining on us at the time we were allowed to go out. 

Although the wind should've made it harder to run, it carried me. 

I found it easier when my skin wasn't getting scorched under the afternoon sun or when the soles of my feet weren't burning against the pavement. I couldn't believe I had never experienced something as ordinary as the cool night wind just because I had the unfortunate fate of being a girl. 

We ran farther and farther, going downstairs and skipping steps like it was some sort of action chase scene in a film—only stopping at a park far enough from our home. 

Even if it was for a while, just talking and talking about everything and everyone felt blissful. 

Eventually we came home, and just as I expected, our mothers were out with our grandmother, aunt, and uncle. My mother's screams rang throughout the entire street, telling us about the respect and honor of the family, while my dupatta was tight around my head and neck again, something so light holding so much weight over me. 

My male cousin kept circling his bike around us, no one stopping him. Meanwhile, we were getting yelled at for walking down our own street (if only they had known we went way

further). 

After the yelling stopped, Haniya looked at me and giggled, saying it was the best night of her life, and I laughed back at her. I couldn't agree more. Seeing her so calm about the fact we just got yelled at made me realize that no amount of shouting can erase this night for us, our joy overcoming the guilt. 

Youth is believing that I deserve happiness, even when someone I love tells me I don't. And maybe happiness isn't sunshine; sometimes it's the midnight breeze.