"I ask my sister how many years it's been since the Taliban came. She says four years ago this summer. I say five. She insists on four and, with a laugh, tells me to count the months and then say how much time has passed. I look at the political map of Afghanistan before me, it has become a part of the wall. Sometimes I even forget that I'm staring at it."
"I'm 29 now, and I should have earned my master's degree, but it remains a distant hope. I listen to the news and, when I get nauseous from the political games, escape into my novels: within their pages I find shelter from the bitterness of life. To keep a small light burning against the swallowing darkness, I also write, sometimes under a pen name and sometimes under my own."
A 29-year-old Afghan woman remembers Kabul's fall on 14 August 2021 and the emotional weight that has followed. The passage of time feels distorted as daily fears, past violence, and national wounds persist. Educational plans, including a master's degree, remain unresolved amid insecurity. The narrator finds relief in novels and in writing, sometimes under a pen name, to sustain hope. A political map on the wall and memories of the homeland evoke simultaneous beauty and pain. The writer believes that storytelling and literary work can serve her country more than politics can.
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