By Nabeela Aslam
At 13, Bushra should have been sitting in a classroom, preparing for her next examination, turning the pages of her science books and imagining a future in which she would one day wear a white coat and become a doctor. A bright class 8 student in Quetta, she loved learning and was among those young students who had begun to see education as a pathway to a better life. Her ambitions were still taking shape, but they were clear enough: she wanted to study, move forward and build a future through her education. Instead, her childhood ended with a family decision she had little power to influence.
Bushra was married to her uncle’s son, an unemployed young man whom her wealthy uncle believed would become more responsible after marriage. The marriage was arranged within the family, apparently with the expectation that it would help secure the young man’s future. But for Bushra, the consequences were very different. She was taken away from her classroom, separated from the routines of childhood and forced to put aside the dream she had nurtured through years of schooling.
When I met Bushra, the consequences of that decision were painfully visible. She was suffering from serious health problems, including impaired kidney function and high blood pressure. The emotional impact was equally severe. At an age when a child should be developing confidence and independence, Bushra was struggling to understand and cope with circumstances she had never chosen for herself.
Yet, amid these difficulties, one place continued to connect her with the girl she once was: her school.
Her teachers had not forgotten their bright student. They continued to encourage her, support her and give her the confidence to think about education again. Their response was particularly important because married young girls are often discouraged, directly or indirectly, from returning to school. Some institutions fear that a married student may be considered unsuitable for the school environment or that her presence could influence other girls. Bushra’s school chose a different path. It did not close its doors on her simply because she had been married.
Instead, the school administration welcomed and supported her, giving her an opportunity to continue her education.
For Bushra, the classroom is therefore much more than a place where lessons are taught. It is a reminder that her life can still contain possibilities beyond the circumstances imposed upon her. It offers a connection to the ambitions she was forced to leave behind and, perhaps, a pathway towards rebuilding the future she once imagined.
Her story is deeply personal, but it is not unique. Across Pakistan, thousands of girls face circumstances that interrupt their education and limit their choices long before they are old enough to make decisions about their own lives. Child marriage, poverty, malnutrition, child labour, violence, lack of legal identity and exclusion from education are often discussed as separate problems. In reality, they are closely connected and frequently reinforce one another.
A child who grows up without a birth certificate or other legal identity documents can face difficulties accessing education, health care and other public services. A child who is malnourished may struggle to learn and remain in school. A girl who leaves school early may become more vulnerable to child labour or early marriage. Once married, a young girl may face early pregnancy, economic dependency, domestic violence and further exclusion from education. Each vulnerability can deepen another, creating a cycle that is difficult to break.
Pakistan’s child-rights situation makes this cycle particularly urgent. Approximately 6–7 percent of children die before reaching the age of five. Around 40 percent of children under five are stunted, 17 percent are wasted and 29 percent are underweight, while approximately half of children aged 6–59 months suffer from anaemia. These figures are not simply indicators of poor health. Malnutrition affects children’s physical and cognitive development, their ability to learn and, ultimately, their capacity to participate fully in society.
The protection environment is equally troubling. Violent forms of discipline remain widespread, exposing children to physical punishment and psychological aggression. Children also face sexual abuse, neglect, exploitation and other forms of violence. Sahil documented 1,828 cases of child sexual violence in Pakistan in 2024. But documented cases represent only the incidents that reach reporting and support systems. Stigma, fear, family pressure, social norms and limited access to justice mean that many cases remain hidden.
For girls, gender inequality adds another layer of vulnerability. Approximately 18 percent of women aged 20–24 were married before the age of 18. Early marriage can bring an abrupt end to education and increase a girl’s dependence on others, while exposing her to early pregnancy, health complications and domestic violence. At the same time, around 11 percent of children aged 5–17 are engaged in child labour. Girls also perform substantial amounts of unpaid domestic and care work, much of which remains invisible in official statistics.
Children are also deeply affected by violence and harmful practices within the household, even when they are not the direct targets. Growing up in an environment of fear, coercion or insecurity can have lasting consequences for a child’s emotional wellbeing, behaviour, ability to concentrate and educational development. Bushra’s story brings this reality painfully close to home. It was not a stranger or an outside force that ended her education at 13; the decision to marry her was made by her own family. Her parents, who should have been protecting her childhood and supporting her ambitions, became part of a decision that took her away from the classroom and interrupted her dream of becoming a doctor. Her experience demonstrates how deeply entrenched social norms, family pressures and gender inequality can shape decisions that have lifelong consequences for children
Ms. Asiya Arif, Executive Director of the Society for the Protection of the Rights of the Child (SPARC), said a recent study conducted by her organisation had identified an alarming rise in violence against children perpetrated by their primary caregivers, highlighting the urgent need for stronger family support, child-protection mechanisms and greater awareness among caregivers about the long-term impact of violence on children.
Bushra’s experience illustrates this wider reality. Her marriage did not simply change her marital status. It disrupted her education, affected her physical and emotional wellbeing and altered the course of a future she had begun to imagine. Her story reminds us that when a girl leaves school prematurely, society loses far more than a student. It loses potential, talent and the contribution that young woman might have made to her family, community and country.
This is why schools and teachers matter so much. Education is not only about textbooks and examinations. For vulnerable children, a school can provide safety, confidence, social connection and a sense of possibility. A teacher can become the person who tells a girl that her life is not defined by the circumstances into which she was born or the decisions others have made for her.
Bushra’s teachers demonstrated precisely this kind of commitment. By keeping the door of the classroom open, they challenged the idea that marriage must automatically mean the end of a girl’s education. Their support cannot undo what has happened to her, but it can help ensure that marriage does not become the final chapter of her story.
Pakistan’s Constitution provides an important foundation for protecting children and promoting women’s equality. Article 25 guarantees equality before the law and equal protection of the law, prohibits discrimination on the basis of sex and allows the State to make special provisions for the protection of women and children. Article 34 calls for steps to ensure the full participation of women in all spheres of national life, while Article 35 places a responsibility on the State to protect the marriage, the family, the mother and the child.
The challenge, therefore, is not merely to recognise children’s rights on paper, but to ensure that those rights are protected in the homes, schools and communities where children live and grow. This requires effective institutions, accessible and responsive services, adequate resources, stronger child-protection mechanisms and clear accountability for violations. Civil society organisations (CSOs) have therefore called for the establishment of a dedicated Ministry for Child Protection at the federal level, with a clear mandate to coordinate and strengthen child-protection policies, services and institutions across the country. Such an institution could provide much-needed leadership and coordination among government departments and ensure that issues such as child marriage, violence, abuse, child labour, malnutrition, lack of legal identity and school exclusion are addressed as interconnected child-rights concerns rather than as isolated problems. For children like Bushra, meaningful protection must go beyond laws and policies; it must ensure that their families, institutions and communities protect their right to education, safety, dignity and the freedom to shape their own future.
