A Tear That Turned Into a Smile So Hope Won’t Die

by Setara*

August 15, 2025

When I heard the news of the provinces of Afghanistan falling one by one to the Taliban, my whole body shook. 😔 I am a woman from a land of pain and dreams. I was the breadwinner for my family. Fear, like a dark night with no morning, took over my heart. 🌑 Mazar province had not fallen yet, but my heart had already broken. With shaking hands, I went to the market and bought food for a few days. It was as if I already knew that tomorrow would not be like yesterday. I thought I might never leave the house again. And yes… that day came.

The Taliban took Mazar-e-Sharif, and with it, not just the city, but also my dreams and hopes. 💔 I, who had so many plans for the future, was lost in a storm of fear and confusion. In those days, I was a teacher — for girls who were each a ball of light. ✨ My students had eyes full of hope and hearts full of questions. One quietly, with a tear in her voice, asked: “Teacher, what if the school gates are closed tomorrow?” Another, with a shaking voice said: “What if they never let us study again? Will we be forgotten?” And a little one, with tears she couldn’t hide, just asked: “Teacher, does that mean we no longer have a future?” I smiled — a smile sewn from threads of faith and tears. And with all my heart, I said, “The future is in your hands.” 🌱 I told them they must always have hope. I told them never forget that we are Afghan girls and women. I told them that no wind could shake us. We have always been strong, and we still are. 💪

But who knew that behind that smile stood a girl whose throat was full of pain, a girl who herself no longer knew what the future would be. I was afraid… but I stayed strong. Because if I shook, my students would collapse. If I went silent, their hopes would go silent, too.

Today, more than four years have passed since those early days. More than four years of silence, more than four years of bans, more than four years of being denied. The Taliban didn’t just close schools — they locked the doors of universities, learning centers, and even women’s workplaces. 🚪 Afghan women and girls were stopped from breathing in the air of knowledge.

I don’t teach anymore, but my heart still beats for education. 📚 For the girls who are now locked inside their homes, but still secretly open their notebooks. For the generation who never saw the sunlight of learning, but still carry light inside. But this pain, this story, becomes heavier every day.

Every time I hear news about the Taliban, or see their angry faces and messy hair, and guns in their hands, ruling over people — my heart breaks into pieces. 💔 Sometimes, I feel so sad, it’s hard for me to even breathe. Every time I see a girl who hasn’t finished school and has been away from learning for years with no hope for the future, my whole body shakes. Every time I hear about a young girl forced into marriage, or a woman punished for knowing too much — I cannot eat or drink for days. It feels like I am sinking into a deep swamp of pain, and the more I try to move, the deeper I go. And this story, this pain, this nightmare… repeats every day. Every single day — nonstop, without mercy.

I am a girl who planted seeds of hope for many years. 🌸 Not with a lot of tools, but with faith. Not with big promises, but with a heart full of pain and love. ❤️ For me, being a teacher was not just about giving lessons — it was about standing strong. Against injustice, against being forgotten, against the darkness. I’m no longer in a school, but I still believe that one day, closed doors will open again. And the voices of Afghan girls will once more bring life to silent classrooms. And that a day will come when the word freedom is not just written in books, but a real truth in every Afghan woman’s life. 🕊️

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* it is a pseudonym.