Maryam’s Story: The Pedals That Stopped Halfway
I, Maryam, always thought a bicycle was more than just a way to get from one place to another — it was a small ticket to freedom. Before the Taliban returned, I used to ride alongside my brother through the dusty alleys of our neighborhood. The wind in my hair and the sound of the bike’s chain felt like music to me. Even on days when I was tired or sad, a few turns of the pedals would lift all the heaviness away.
Everything changed when the Taliban came back. One day, my brother said quietly but firmly, “Don’t go anymore, it’s dangerous.” At first, I thought he was joking, but then I realized the bitter truth behind his words. That same day, we put my bike away in the storage room. It felt like I had locked away a piece of my life.
Sometimes at night, I sneak into the storage room, wipe the dust from the seat, and hold the handlebars in my hands. I close my eyes and imagine myself once again on bright, empty streets. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to ride again — without the fear that the sound of my bike’s chain might make someone warn me, “Don’t go anymore.”
