Behind Closed School Gates

Hidden Light*

I am a girl from Afghanistan, a girl who once left home with a bag full of books and a heart full of hope. But I never again reached my classroom. That day, it was not only the school gates that were closed; parts of my soul were broken, my dreams were silenced, and my future collapsed. Even now, when I look at my books, my heart aches, because I know my place is still there behind a classroom desk, with a pen in my hand and a heart full of hope that no one is allowed to see freely.

I have spent nights in tears and silence. Not out of weakness, but out of longing for the life that was my right. I have asked myself: why must my dreams be buried simply because I am a girl? Why must my youth pass in waiting? Why does no one hear our voices? Every cry I have remains stuck in my throat, and its echo only lives within my own heart.

Education for me was not just lessons; it was breathing, it was living, it was believing that I could become someone and that I had value. When this right was taken from me, it felt as though a part of my existence was taken away, something no one can ever replace. Every day that I cannot go to school, every day that I see opportunities slipping away, my heart breaks into pieces.

We Afghan girls are not silent; we are wounded, we are tired, but we are not broken. In our homes, in darkness and silence, we study under dim lamps, we pray, and we think about the future. Every breath we take is resistance, every tear we shed is a silent cry. We scream, yet no one hears us, or perhaps they do not want to.

Sometimes, I imagine that time itself has taken everything from us, the time when we should have laughed, the time for reading books, the time for being with friends, the time for living. Instead of smiles, time has brought us tears and fear. We have become prisoners in our homes, in a world that still refuses to see or hear us.

Sometimes, in my dreams I return to school. The chairs are empty, but the laughter and voices of my friends echo in my ears. When I wake up, I realize they are only memories, and once again I find myself trapped behind walls of restrictions. With each passing day, the tears grow deeper, the heartbreak grows heavier, and my hope struggles to breathe its final breaths.

Sometimes, I feel the world has forgotten us. No one wants to understand our pain, that the world only sees our story as news, not as humanity. Yet despite all the pain, we are still alive, still hopeful, still resisting. My message to the world is this: do not forget us. Girls with hearts that still want to beat, dreams that are still alive, and hopes that have not yet died. If given the chance, we can rebuild our country and give life meaning again.

I still dream of the day when I will hear the school bell again, when I will walk into the classroom with a smile, write, read, and breathe without fear. But with each passing day, the heartbreak grows deeper, the tears heavier, and my heart more burdened. I live with a broken heart but a living hope.

I want the world to know that Afghan girls are still alive. We still have dreams, and we are still waiting for justice. And perhaps the day the world truly sees us, our voices will no longer be silenced, our tears will no longer go unanswered, and no girl will ever again be forced to live in silence and pain the way I do.

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* it is a pseudonym.