I am dedicating this piece to Ishmal - nine years old, from Madyan, Upper Swat. She went to school, came home, and was raped and killed by a neighbour before she could live to see the protests that followed - led by us, the women in burqas.

Her story leaves me with a question about myself: which room am I standing in? I am not writing this as a confident, blunt, intersectional feminist today. I am writing it as an ordinary Pakistani woman. Powerless - not helpless. There is a difference, and most days I am the only one who seems to know it.

Everyone will remember patriarchy in November - the international 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, running from November 25, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, to December 10, Human Rights Day. Sixteen days, a hashtag, a candle, a panel. This is not that piece. This is about the other three hundred and forty-nine days, when nobody is counting.

A woman was hurt for looking at the sky. A woman was eliminated for dancing. A girl was punished for a TikTok. A woman was........

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