In the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate.

I greet you with the warmest peace — the kind of peace I once feared I would never feel again. My name is Moujon, and I am a daughter of Sylhet. I am also a woman who carries scars that no one can see.

On the first of December, 2023, I opened a small door into a very large darkness. This website is that door. It is not much, just a quiet corner where I gather the news and reports that too many people turn away from.
This site is in Bangla, because it is meant first for the daughters of Bangladesh, the ones we are trying to protect. But the truth should travel further than one language. Tap the language button to read in English, or to return to Bangla. However you read it, thank you for being here.

You should know why I do this. I do it because I was one of those girls. The memories have not faded. They live in me still, in the way I flinch, in the way I hold my breath, in the way I learned to smile so no one would ask questions. For years I stayed silent, living with my parents, unmarried, terrified of breaking their hearts. In our country, a daughter who has been abused is not seen as a survivor. She is seen as ruined. And the girl herself learns to carry a guilt that was never hers.

They ask if she is pure. They never ask what was taken from her. They never ask who took it. And the men who hurt us? They walk free. They are respected. They are teachers, professionals, neighbours. They live ordinary lives while we spend ours trying to breathe.

But I am not writing this to drown you in sorrow. I am writing because something happened to me that I never dared to hope for. In August 2023, I did something that felt both bold and necessary. I engaged a developer and hosting business to handle everything — the domain, the development, the hosting and the maintenance — because, honestly, I had no idea about any of these things. They told me it would take three months. I had a plan. I was educated and I was a survivor. I felt it was my duty, my responsibility, to do something with the pain that had shaped me. The plan was simple enough. I would dedicate myself full-time to shining a light on the widespread sexual abuse of children in Bangladesh.

Then everything changed in an instant. A marriage proposal came. Suddenly, my parents agreed to the proposal. But I knew, as a Muslim woman, that I could not enter a marriage carrying secrets. I did not want to deceive the man they had chosen for me. And what about my website — the one I had already paid for, the one being built at that very moment?

I know some of you may wonder why I did not tell him before the wedding. The truth is simpler and sadder than it looks. In our society, a proposal does not come to the girl. It comes to her parents. There was no quiet moment, no private space, no safe way for me to speak to him alone before the nikah. The conversations happen between families. And I was afraid — afraid of what would happen to my parents, afraid of what people would say, afraid that I would be sent home in disgrace before I had even begun.

What people do not understand about survivors of abuse is that we are not hiding a debt or a crime. We are carrying a wound that society has taught you would make us unlovable. If I had told him before, and he had walked away, the news would have spread. My parents would have been humiliated. My chances of marriage would have collapsed. In that culture, a woman in my position is not choosing between honesty and dishonesty — she is choosing between honesty and ruin. That is a terrible choice to force on a girl. So I did what a dutiful daughter does. I went along with what my parents wanted. But inside me, a voice would not be silent. It kept saying: you cannot begin a marriage with a secret. I made a decision. Even if he divorced me, even if I had to return to my parents' house and live as a young divorcee, I would tell him the truth. I would rather lose a marriage than live inside a lie.

So after our wedding, I sat him down and told him everything. I told him about the abuse I had survived as a child. I told him about the website already being built, and that it was going to be ready in November. I told him I wanted permission to continue. My husband did not look away. He did not blame me. He did not ask me to stop. Instead, he looked at me with love in his eyes and said he was proud of me. He told me I should continue, and that I should share even my own story, if it meant saving a single girl's life

He could have sent me away that night. He had every right to. Instead, he chose me. That is not a trap. That is grace.

Because in the Quran, Allah says: "Whoever saves a life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity." — Surah Al-Ma'idah, 5:32 That verse became our promise. My husband's words became my strength. I am proud to be his wife. The site was ready in late November. Life moved quickly. And, on 1 December 2023, the door finally opened.
And I pray with everything I have that Allah accepts this effort. That He sees the tears I have cried and the work I am trying to do. If you have read this far, thank you. If you are a girl who is hurting, please know you are not alone. You are not dirty. You are not ruined. You are not what they did to you.

With all my heart,

Moujon Sultana

Location: Gournagar, Ward No 08, Barlekha Kathaltali, Moulvibazar – 3252, Bangladesh
Phone: 01889842087
Email: [email protected]

First published: 01 December 2023