Between Two Borders

Three years ago, I was accepted into university in my home country — the dream I had chased for years. But just a day after I arrived to begin my studies, everything was taken away. Girls were banned from universities. I packed my dreams in a bag and returned home in silence.

For over a year, I stayed inside — no school, no future, only uncertainty. I applied for scholarships, but getting a visa as an Afghan girl felt impossible. Still, I kept trying. One night, an email arrived: I had been selected for a scholarship in Pakistan. It felt unreal — I read it again and again, afraid it would disappear.

That joy didn’t last long. My passport was close to expiry, and renewing it under the new regime was almost impossible. We tried everything. When I finally got it renewed through someone we trusted, his car was caught in a flood. My passport was water-damaged. I cried silently, thinking the dream was over again. But somehow, I made it through. Even that broken passport became a part of my journey.

I crossed the border with a heavy heart but strong hope. My father left me with one sentence: “Study hard, make me proud.” Those words carried me through sleepless nights, entrance exams, and unbearable heat. I didn’t go home — I stayed, waited, and prayed. Finally, I was accepted into a top university.

When I arrived in Islamabad, I had no support, no language skills, no place to stay. But I pushed forward. I didn’t understand a word in class at first. I felt lost, like a stranger. Slowly, I started learning — one word, one gesture, one kind teacher at a time.

Now I call this place my second home. I’ve spent many Eids far from my family, especially my mother, whom I miss the most. But I remind myself: I came here for a reason — not just for me, but for every girl who wasn’t allowed to continue her education.

I’m not just a student. I’m a daughter, a dreamer, and a fighter. One day, I hope to return — stronger — to build a country where no girl ever has to give up her future again.