After long nights, the sun rose again, and it has illuminated the entire city of Kabul with its light. Suhrab was asleep on the floor, clutching an old red blanket; the sound of wood burning in the heater reached his ears, while the cold air drifting in through the gaps in the window chilled the room. The sound of birds—seeking refuge near the windows to escape the freezing cold—broke the silence; a sound that awakened the butterfly of hope in every heart.

Suhrab woke up with sleepy eyes and looked at the beauty of sunlight for a while, that sunlight which was shining in the sky without fear.

Suhrab, still tired, rubbed his hands over his eyes and took his fathers Pato —Afghani handkerchief— and got up and went to draw water from the well near the house, and prepare tea. With thick hands—whose scars were clearly visible—it had become like a dried flower. He took the bucket in the well and got water; taking water from that old well was like a fun for him. And for a while, he stared into the deep water of the well; on that pure water, he could see the damp walls, which reminded him of the high, black mountains that had become the soldiers’ refuge and home, and perhaps the place where death followed them. He threw the bucket once again; this time, he took a little fish. A strange smile appeared on his lips, the golden baby fish which was scared and hit the sides of the bucket to escape.

“I will set you free,” Suhrab said loudly and excitedly, and throw the water into the well. A joy appeared in him that he had freed a living soul.

His mother, Ziba, stared at him and felt happy.

“She said, Suhrab, came here. I have something for you.”

“What is this envelope, Mom?”

“I have received this yesterday, and because I can’t read and write, I have waited for my little boy to read it for me.”

Suhrab took the envelope with his wet hands and opened it; there was 1000 AFG with a letter. He opened it, and he paused for a few seconds.

“Read it, Suhrab,” she whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

While his voice trembled, he started reading loudly!

“Salam alikum to my dear son, Suhrab, and my lovely wife, Ziba. I am writing this letter to tell you that I am good. Actually, the general told us we only have equipment and food for three days, and the Great War will begin tomorrow. If I cloud return home, I will definitely take you away from Kabul, and will move to Pakistan. If I don’t come back, Suhrab, remember Dad always loved you, and take care of your family; don’t let our family name be forgotten.

Pray for me.

Your Dad,

Khalid.”

His hands started shaking, and suddenly, tears flowed from his eyes. Suhrab was a young boy who was standing there, there was a heavy responsibility which was put in upon his shoulders. 

With his injured hands that were as red as tulips and dripping blood, he held his father’s letter tighter. He closed his eyes. His lips dry. For a while, he imagined that everything was a nightmare. He was saying to himself, in a very quiet voice that only he could hear, “Everything is fine,” he went back to those beautiful days that had become a memory for him.

“I could hear the sound of a horse’s hooves passing through the alley, and I heard the sound of bells which were tied with red and green strings around the horse’s reins.”

While blood was pouring from his hands, he held the letter so tightly, as if he were holding his father’s hands.

He walked down the alley with his father, the old shops in Kocha Kah froshe; every shop was decorated with wooden cages hanging on the corners and sides, adding to the beauty of the place. The sound of birds breaking the silence, like the voices of singers singing from the heart for freedom, could be heard.

We were only passing the alley. My father saw his best friend, Farhad. Yes, Farhad, who was working there. He had a small shop and was selling different types of animals. He hugged my father and said loudly in a friendly tone, “Salam alikum, Khalid jan, how are you? It’s been a long time, if I am not wrong it’s about twelve years, right? What’s up? How did you remember us?” And he laughed.

“Hey, Farhad, thanks. Today I came here with my brave son, Suhrab. Ooo, come on, I always remember you. Hey, Suhrab, say Salam to your uncle.”

My eyes were fixed on the caged parrot, and I was thinking to myself, “I wish this was mine. What if my father didn’t buy it for me? What should I do?”

Khalid whispered loudly, “Suhrab, you have to say Salam to your uncle; don’t touch the cage!”

“I am so sorry. I was just looking. Salam alikum, Uncle.”

They laughed, and Farhad said, “It’s ok. Everyone loves this place; once you come here, you can’t leave it because one part of your heart always will belong to this place.” Farhad took the cage with his big hands and gave it to me. A beautiful smile came to my lips, and he said, “This is yours, son; take care of it.” We left Uncle Khalid’s shop happily. My father, seeing the smile on my lips, hugged me and said, “Take care of this bird, ok.”

We continued on our way while I was holding the cage tightly. I couldn’t feel how much I was tired or felt uncomfortable; that little bird was like a hope for me.

While Passing the alley, I noticed that every shop and every person had their own stories; you hear traditional songs and poems, in every place.

Kabul was alive! Kabul was alive, with every legend which was passed down from generation to generation. Kabul was colorful with poems and stories.

In the sky, my eyes caught sight of colorful kites that reflected the mirror of Kabul from afar. Kites that made the sound of freedom and the scent of its peace, danced in the air.