A Girl’s Letter from Afghanistan to Her Book

Hello, my dear book,

I hope you are well. This is Raha, your old friend. It is past midnight while I am writing this, and the ticking of the clock breaks the silence of my room. I cannot sleep. I picked up my pen and started this letter to you. I have missed you more than I can explain.

For a long time, I have not only lost touch with you, but with myself. In these circumstances, reading has become a distant dream—something that appears only in rare moments, like shadows in my sleep. But tonight, I forced myself to write to you. I felt I needed to hear your voice again, hoping that through this conversation, perhaps I could find a part of myself.

I know that during this absence, dust has gathered on your body, darkness has surrounded you, and even your white pages have lost their brightness. I am ashamed that I left you alone. You cannot imagine how many times I wished to return, to touch your pages, and lose myself inside your words. But sorrow, fear, and the constant pressure around me have filled every part of my mind and body. They have taken over everything—my days, my thoughts, even the way my heart beats.

Everything goes back to them. Everything is in their hands. Their presence is like a weight on our throats, on our daily life. You know them well. You warned us about them many times, but we were careless and did not take your words seriously. We read you less than we should have, and we visited you less than you deserved.

I regret this deeply. If only I had read more, if only I had learned more from you. Now they watch everything—me and you. Our connection is important to them and dangerous for us. If they discover how close I am to you, and that you challenge their ignorance, I do not know what they would do to me. And what would they do to you? Burn you? Hide you away? I do not want to think about it, but fear has reached the deepest parts of me.

The Taliban… I am afraid even to say their name. Yet this name hangs over every part of our life, like a dark shadow. Their control shapes our days and limits every choice. I cannot read freely, cannot write as before, cannot even walk or dress as I used to. They decide what is acceptable and what is not. For girls like me, this prison feels even tighter. Day by day, I feel pieces of my identity disappearing.

Before, my world revolved around you and around writing. Now I feel trapped in a swamp, sinking deeper every time I try to move. It is as if no one hears my voice anymore. They have closed the eyes and ears of an entire society. People no longer recognize each other. Even those who shared the same street or the same roof for years now seem like strangers.

When I walk outside, I see faces turned into stone—hard, exhausted, and full of silent anger. But this anger has no direction and no hope. It burns, but it does not illuminate anything. People do not smile anymore. Even our greetings have become short and cold. Words feel broken under the weight of these days.

Children no longer play with confidence. Their laughter has faded. What remains is fear, crying, and silence.

Sometimes I wish I could hold someone—someone who understands what I am carrying inside. But it feels as if my hands have been cut off. The distance between people is not only physical; it is built from fear: fear of speaking, fear of being seen, fear of being punished by them.

In the middle of all this, I feel suffocated. I want to scream, but I know my voice would get lost in this heavy silence. Still, I ask myself: will there be a day when we recognize each other again? Will we ever smile without fear? Will we remember that even in ruins, humanity can survive?

I am alive because of this small hope—weak but still present. Maybe one day we will return to ourselves. Maybe we will find each other again.

I did not want my letter to be so dark, but writing is the only way I can breathe. If I stay silent, I know things will get worse for me.

So today I wrote to you because I do not want the darkness to win. Do not let it win either. Write back to me. Tell me how to escape this dead end. I want to hear from you again.

I want to hold you in my hands once more. Maybe you are the only one who can pull me out of this suffocation. When you receive this letter, I want you to know that a small flame is still burning in my heart. Maybe you can help it grow again.

Let us talk again as we used to. Share your worlds with me. Place your words like a remedy on my wounds. You always taught me that hope survives even in the darkest nights.

I am waiting for your reply.

With love,

Your friend, Raha Azar