We are helping him
My name is Ahmad and I grew up in a small town in Pakistan, the only boy among my siblings. I was 14 years old when I began to notice something different about myself, though I could not fully understand it at the time. I went to a co-educational school, and I would see my male classmates laughing, chatting, and flirting with the girls in our class. But for me, it was different. I did not feel the same pull towards the girls that my friends did. At first, I told myself it was just shyness.
Around this time, I became close with Wahid, a boy who lived nearby. We quickly became best friends. We walked to school together, played cricket in the evenings, and studied side by side. Our families knew each other, and our bond grew naturally. One morning, while riding together in a crowded vehicle on our way to school, my arm brushed against his. It was just a moment, but it almost changed everything for me. A rush of emotions coursed through me—something entirely new and overwhelming. For the first time, I realised that I felt attracted to him.
This realisation both terrified and confused me. Growing up in a conservative society, I had always been told that such feelings were forbidden, even shameful. Being gay was not just frowned upon; it was considered a crime in the eyes of society and our religion.
However, suppressing something so innate was not easy. The more I tried to deny it, the more isolated I felt. I could not even share my feelings with Wahid. I could not tell anyone. I lived in constant fear of being discovered and being beaten up, if not killed. These fears were well founded. Two boys in a nearby town were caught in a relationship. They were gay. Word spread quickly: their families were outraged. The community condemned them, and there was not even a word in their favour. The boys were beaten and ultimately killed by their own relatives to “restore honour.” Their own families, who had cared for them all their lives, turned against them overnight. It was hard to understand and even harder to know the details about how they were savagely killed. I remember the sick feeling in my stomach when I heard this news. It was a brutal reminder of what could happen to someone like me. No one, absolutely no one, even voiced any pity. People said that the boys got what they deserved. Even members of my own family held the same views.
From that moment on, I lived in a constant state of fear. I was just a teenager, carrying the heavy burden of a secret that could cost me my life. The years that followed were some of the darkest of my life. As I grew older, my family started talking about my future, particularly about marriage. They told me it was time to start thinking about settling down, and they began pressuring me to marry a woman. I was trapped, but I could not bring myself to tell them the truth. Instead, I made excuses. I told them I wanted to focus on my studies and build a career first. They reluctantly agreed but made it clear that marriage was non-negotiable.
In 2023, I managed to come to the UK for further studies. For the first time in my life, I felt a glimmer of hope—a chance to be myself without fear. However, the pressure from my family remained. My uncle called one day to tell me that my marriage had been arranged. He said I needed to come back, get married, and then I could return to my studies. If I did not agree, he would stop funding my studies.
I knew I could not go through with it. For the first time, I gathered the courage to tell my family the truth. I told them about my feelings, about who I was. Their reaction was immediate and devastating. They were furious, calling me a disgrace to the family and to our culture. The ferocity of their words still gives me nightmares. My uncle, a former military officer, threatened me. He and the family told me if I returned to Pakistan, they would kill me to restore the family’s honour. I believe them. I know what they are capable of. My uncle is well-connected, and I am sure he could easily find me, and that would be the end.
Having nowhere to escape, no family to turn to, and no safe refuge anywhere, I decided to apply for asylum in the UK. I never thought one day I would be here, escaping my home country with only the clothes I was wearing. Life as an asylum seeker is not an easy one. As an asylum seeker, I am not allowed to work, and it is really hard to make ends meet every week. I am able to survive only because of the generosity of some of my friends. Some days, I ask myself why I have been so unlucky to end up in this situation. My whole life is just suspended. I cannot go back to Pakistan, and I still don’t know if I will be able to stay in England.
Despite everything, I hold on to hope. One day, I hope I will be able to have a career in the legal sector, help others, and contribute to the UK, my new home. More than anything, I long for the chance to live freely and love without fear.