I am a girl from a remote land, where the first scent my nose ever noticed was the smell of fresh soil and green grass. When I opened my eyes to the world, I felt my mother’s warm hand on my cheek for a brief moment, and then the taste of salty tears marked the beginning of her permanent absence from my life.

My father blamed me for that misfortune. His sharp and cold looks pricked my soul like thorns, and the grumbling of his voice echoed a bitter injustice in my ears. Gradually, that same gaze extended to my siblings. I didn’t know what to do. The home that was supposed to be my refuge turned into a place filled with coldness and heavy silence.

My sister, who was like my mother, left home under the heavy burden of forced marriage. With her departure, the house became cold and dark for me. There were no more soft touches, no laughter, no warmth to embrace me. I felt my sister with every fiber of my being. When I realized she was leaving, only God knew the pain that gripped me. Her leaving felt like the air had vanished from my lungs.

I stayed in that state for days until a woman entered our home. A house that had always smelled of fresh bread and warmth now carried the scent of tasteless food and sharp aromas. The shouts of my father and brother at her pained my ears. The house was filled with the sound of constant arguments.

Three years passed. I was seven, and the new woman had made my life bitter. The smell of undercooked or scant meals left the taste of hunger on my tongue. The force of her palm on my face left a pain and burning I could feel in my bones for days. With my brother gone to Kabul, the darkness and coldness of the house wrapped around me entirely.

I think I was a strong girl, carrying all these burdens even without a mother to speak to me, to comfort me, to guide me in navigating life. No one was there to tell me how to live, yet God came to my aid. My brother, who had gone to Kabul for work, returned. After some time, he took me with him to Kabul. There, for the first time, I heard the voice of calm in the silence of my room and smelled hope in the city air.

One day, a neighbor’s daughter spoke to me softly about studying. That word carried the scent of an unknown world. I felt something strange, as if studying held a deep meaning. When she spoke of lessons, a feeling of joy awakened within me. It was as if school had become my friend.

Two days later, she took my hand and led me to school. The scent of fresh books and clean paper filled my senses. My eyes were drawn to the blackboard, and the teacher’s voice, like a soothing melody, settled on my ears. Holding pen and paper, I felt life in my hands for the first time.

Today, at nineteen, when I look back, I can still taste all the hardships on my tongue, but the fragrance of success makes them bearable. I have become the alchemist of my own life; through facing challenges, seeing failures, hearing harsh words, feeling fear, and witnessing darkness, I have shaped myself and continue to shape myself. Now, I love my life.​​​