The house was glowing with golden lights, the sound of laughter and music filled the air, and guests moved around in joy. It was Kohinur's wedding day. A day meant for celebration. But inside the house, locked away in a small, dark room, a child's heart-wrenching cries shattered the festive air.

"Mama! Mama!" Five-year-old Zerin screamed, her tiny hands banging on the door. Her fragile voice trembled with fear, with desperation, but no one opened the door.

Outside, Kohinur sat in her bridal attire, her heart pounding with unbearable pain. Tears streamed down her face, smudging her carefully applied makeup. She was drowning in sorrow, but no one saw, no one cared. Her father had arranged this marriage for her future, but what future did her daughter have without her mother?

Zerin had been locked away since morning. They told her she couldn't see her mother today. She didn't understand why. She only knew that she needed her mother, that she wanted to run into her arms, to feel the warmth of her embrace. But all she had was the cold wooden door separating them.

"Let me go to Mama! Please!" Zerin begged, her voice breaking. She was only five, but her tiny heart was shattering like glass.

The wedding rituals continued, the sacred vows were made, but Kohinur felt numb. Her hands trembled, her lips quivered. She wanted to scream, to run to her baby, to hold her close and say, "Mama is here, my love." But she couldn't. She was bound by tradition, by duty, by a decision that wasn't hers.

And then, the moment of departure arrived.

Kohinur stepped forward, her bridal veil trembling as much as her frail body. She turned toward the house, her heart screaming for her daughter. Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, "Just once... let me see my baby... please..."

But the answer was no.

Her father, her relatives—no one allowed it. It would be an ill omen, they said. A bride must leave without looking back.

Kohinur fell to her knees, sobbing, her body shaking uncontrollably. The weight of the moment crushed her. Her daughter was just a few steps away, locked in a room, crying for her, and she couldn't even hold her one last time.

Inside, Zerin was screaming like a wounded bird. Her tiny hands scratched at the door, her little voice raw from crying, "Mama! Don't leave me! Mama, please!"

The door remained shut.

The carriage was ready. Kohinur had no choice but to step in. Her heart bled with every step she took away from her daughter. She turned one last time, hoping, praying for a miracle. But all she heard was the heartbreaking sob of her child, fading behind the noise of wedding bells.

As the carriage rolled away, Kohinur's tears poured endlessly, her soul drowning in grief. And inside that locked room, little Zerin collapsed on the cold floor, her body shaking, her voice breaking into quiet, hopeless sobs.

"Mama..."

But her mother was gone.