We Are the Light: No. 2

The Price of Being a Girl

By Bahar 

 

We stepped out of the school gate into the empty lively streets of Kabul, where life thrived in every corner. There was Laughter all over filling the air, and for a moment deep down it felt like the whole city was purely smiling with us. I turned to Bahar, clapping my hands. “Girl! You did it again! You got the first position!” I said, with a very pleasant voice almost jumping in the air. She looked at me with that big, bright smile of hers, the kind that made everything feel so fresh and new, just like her name.“Yeah… one step closer to becoming a doctor,” she said it in a very soft voice. The bright of spark in her eyes and the gentle calm smile on her face revealed she was already imagining herself in a white coat.

I laughed, swinging my bag over my shoulder. The street was so full of students, all moving around and talking to each other. However, in that moment, nothing else mattered to us. We walked home, talking so sweet about our dreams, the lives we longed for, and the future we believed was      waiting for us. It was our final day of 10th grade, the last day of the year, but we had no clue that it would be the last time we would talk about our futures together. It was the first day of the new school year. I went to Bahar’s house, knocking on the door, eager to walk to school together. But she didn’t come. Instead, her mom opened the door with a sorrow on her face. She hesitated before saying, “Bahar isn’t going to school. She’s sick.”

A heavy disappointment gripped in my chest. This day was supposed to be ours, a moment we had dreamed of. But I kept going to school alone, and this time it felt strange, like a piece of me missing. Without Bahar by my side, the excitement of the New Year lost its warmth. A few days passed, but the feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t leave me. She was on my mind every single minute. Bahar never missed school, and the sadness in her mother’s face stayed in my mind. I was unable to ignore it any longer, I decided to visit her.

When I stepped into her house, my heart sank. The girl who once carried the brightest smile, lighting up every room, looked like a shadow of herself. Dark circles framed her red, tired eyes, and her pale face made her seem as if she had aged overnight. “Bahar… my dear, what happened to you?” I asked. She looked down, fingers nervously twisting the edge of her scarf. “I have to get married,” she said in a very calm and broken voice.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “But… you’re only 15, Bahar! That’s not right! What about your dream of becoming a doctor? What about making your family proud?” She let out a bitter laugh, her eyes hollow. “Proud?” she repeated. “Ghazal, how can I make them proud? Baba says only if I were a boy, my talents and hard work would matter. But I’m not. I’m just a burden for them in this family. They’re going to give me away whether I want it or not. I have no choice.” I felt anger rising inside me. I refused to accept this. “You can’t let them do this to you, Bahar!” I burst out. But she just sat there, staring at the floor, lost in silence. It was the first time I felt so disappointed in my entire life.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. Without thinking, I turned and rushed out of her house. A few days later, I heard the news. Bahar had gone to her village to get married. I never got to say goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to attend her wedding. How could I watch my best friend’s dreams crumble before my eyes? That day, as she became someone’s wife, I cried harder than I ever had in my life.

Her absence left a hole in my heart, but it also planted something heavier, doubt. I began questioning my own worth as a girl. If a strong and brilliant girl like Bahar, had no choice, what hope did I have? Would I share the same fate? Studying lost its meaning. My books felt pointless. My dreams felt pointless. But Padar jaan noticed. One night, he sat beside me, his voice gentle. “I wish we could have helped Bahar,” he said. “But you, Ghazal, you still have your dreams. Chase them. Don’t give up! You have to follow your dreams and be strong like a rock! You have to make me proud, I have always got your back jaan padar don’t worry. Don’t let this be the story of more girls.” He placed his hand on my head. “I know your worth, jaan padar. Never forget it.”

His words stayed with me, slowly rekindling the strength I thought I’d lost. Then came the day, the Kankor results were announced. My heart raced as I scanned the list. Years of hard work had led to this moment. And there it was, my name. I had been accepted to medical university. I was going to be a doctor. Everyone was proud. I should have been the happiest person in the world. But a part of me felt empty.

It was Bahar. She was all I could think about. I wished she were here, sharing the same joy, dreaming of her future. But instead, she was far away, nine months pregnant, waiting to bring a life into this world while her own dreams faded away so easy. As I stood there, lost in thought, my little brother came running toward me. I assumed he was excited about my results, but the worry in his eyes told a different story.

“I’m sorry, Ghazal,” he whispered, his voice trembling. My heart clenched. “What happened?” I asked. He hesitated, then spoke the words that broke me. “Bahar and her baby… they’re gone.” The world around me blurred. My chest tightened. My legs buckled beneath me and everything faded into darkness. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed.

Ten years passed, I stood before the mirror, my white coat draped over my shoulders. Every time I looked at my reflection, I saw Bahar’s face staring back, her smile, her dreams, her life that could have been. I whispered to myself, how unfair is this world, where the family we can’t even choose holds the power to silence our dreams before they ever get the chance to bloom?

The sun was hiding behind the mountains, and the sky had turned orange and

purple. As the shadows grew longer, night gradually approached, and the cool breeze

brought the scent of rain. I had let my brown hair down, which had long been pinned up

tightly, to dance freely in the spring air. This was a moment of beautiful tranquility in our

currently empty world. I looked out from the rooftop. I saw men with large turbans on

their heads, harsh black eyes, long black beards, and wearing tunics and military vests

that couldn’t contain their large bodies and bellies. The rhythmic thuds of their black

boots on the sidewalk reminded me of their presence and control .the Taliban. The word

tasted like ashes in my mouth. Watching them through the bars of the rooftop felt like

being imprisoned. I remembered a time when I had gone with my family to visit the

shrine of Sakhi. The streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of women’s clothing,

the playful screams of children chasing pigeons, and the melodic voices of vendors

creating a lively atmosphere. But now, everything is silent. Everything is covered in a

suffocating ash; laughter, screams, and joy have been replaced by fear, and the silence

weighs heavily on the air. Those men with their terrifying eyes have stolen everything

from me. Not only my future but also the dreams and education of the girls in my land. I

look at the girls around me. My sister, who had dreams of becoming a doctor. She

wanted to heal the sick and mend broken bodies. My cousin. I’m sure she had big

dreams, but now she mends torn clothes in the dim light of their home. My younger

sisters. They are in sixth grade. I worry that after finishing sixth grade, their wings will be

clipped, and their spirits will be grounded. They want to make the most of every moment

in school today. But occasionally, they ask me when school will start again so they can

attend seventh grade. A lump tightens in my throat, and I reply, “Soon.” I know it’s a lie,

but I don’t avoid saying it because it’s a necessary lie to keep the faint flame of hope still

burning in their hearts. The reflection of our lives is in everything that has been stripped

bare or robbed of its vitality. I don’t know if our hearts ache or have become dry and

numb, or perhaps they burned to ashes long ago. Yet, despite all this, we wait, we

hope, and we resist. Like trees waiting in the depths of barrenness for rain and a

chance to bloom again. And we are heading towards a future they cannot control. A

future where our voices will rise above the dust. Our voices will echo across the

mountains, declaring our right to exist, learn, and dream.

 

— Yaghma Ghazanfari

The Unfair Universe

 

Life is not the same for everyone, and that is why sometimes the universe seems very unfair. Some people live a luxurious life and are still not happy with it, while others have nothing but are very happy. Some people underestimate what they have, and they think that everyone has it, and they are basic needs of humans. On the other hand, some people are starving for these basic needs. Therefore, the people who work hard and struggle to have these basic needs know exactly the value of having them. They know how hard and exhausting it is to fight for their rights and freedom while others get it on their plates. The struggle for fundamental rights such as food, water, shelter, and employment can be profoundly frustrating. These differences can be seen in gender inequality, where men are supposedly superior to women. Women struggle to get what men already have as their rights, for example, independence, and freedom of living the life by their will Moreover, living in a society dominated by patriarchal norms, where women are supposed to be the slaves of men and obey them as if they are their god, is truly disappointing. Afghan women have been taught to obey and respect the decisions, commands, and regulations imposed by men, no matter if their decisions, orders, and rules destroy their lives, take their mental peace away, or kill their dreams. When a woman advocates for her rights or seeks to pursue her dreams—be it in education, career, or other areas—she is often labeled as disobedient and ill-mannered, facing threats of violence even from her own family. In contrast, men enjoy the freedom to act as they please, unrestricted in their choices of attire, movement, or education. I believe that Afghanistan is at the high peak of gender inequality, and it is a place where a man’s ego wins and a girl’s dreams are buried. Where girls are not happy with being girls, and they wish they were born as boys. Here is where the universe seems so unfair.