Laila’s Story of a Street That No Longer Knows Her
Before the Taliban came, I, Laila, was an employee in a government office. My salary wasn’t much, but I felt like I was part of my community and contributing to building the future. Every morning, I would put on my work clothes with excitement, joke with colleagues on the way to the office, and feel that my day was going to be meaningful. Everything collapsed in a single day — the day my boss said: “From tomorrow, women are no longer allowed to come.”
In the days that followed, my home began to feel smaller. I could hear the footsteps of people in the street, but I only watched from behind the glass. Even when I went out to shop, it felt as though the streets had grown colder and no one recognized me anymore. Whenever I think about my old workplace, I see the image of my desk and the piles of unfinished files still vivid in my mind.
Now I fill my time with sewing and helping my nieces and nephews, but the emptiness remains. Sometimes I imagine that if I could sit behind that desk again, I might find the part of me — the active, energetic woman — that I’ve lost. The Taliban managed to remove me from the streets and offices, but they cannot erase the memory that I was once a part of the public life of this city.
