If the Taliban Didn’t Exist

I am Arifa, an Afghan girl who has always carried big dreams in a small notebook. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I imagine a different Afghanistan, one where the sky is calm, the streets are safe, and girls are allowed to learn.

In this Afghanistan, the morning light shines through my bedroom window and wakes me gently. I wear my beautiful red dress and red lipstick, wrap my scarf the way I want, and step out into a world that welcomes me. I see girls laughing on their way to class, carrying books instead of fear. Teachers greet us with warm smiles, and knowledge feels like freedom itself.

I would study medicine with a heart full of purpose. I always imagined myself becoming a doctor—a doctor who treats children, comforts mothers, and brings healing to remote villages that are falling apart from lack of basic infrastructure and opportunities. I would wear my white coat proudly, knowing that every step I took was building a stronger, healthier future for my people.

But medicine wouldn't be my only dream. In this peaceful Afghanistan, I would also be an author. I would write stories about brave Afghan girls who rise, who dream, who fight silently with strength in their hearts. I would write about my patients, the stories they share, and the suffering of humankind. My books would sit on the shelves of a small library I built myself—cosy, quiet, filled with colors and handmade carpets where children could sit and read.

Every afternoon, girls would gather around me as I read stories aloud. In the back room of this library, I would have a painting class. The walls would be covered with drawings of mountains, pomegranates, blue rivers, and the long, colorful dresses of our culture. Children would bring their dreams onto paper, and I would smile, knowing that creation is another form of freedom.

And at the end of every day, I would return home to my own happy family. We would drink green tea with dried mulberry and apricot, talk about school and art, and laugh about small things. My mother would read my latest story, my father would proudly hang the children’s paintings on the wall, and my younger siblings would beg me to teach them new colors.

This is the Afghanistan I imagine, an Afghanistan without fear, without silence, without the weight that girls carry today. It is a world that could have been, a world that still can be.

My story is simple: if Afghanistan were free, I would be a doctor, an author, a teacher, an artist, a daughter who made her family proud, and a woman who does not need to fight for her basic rights. And even though this world exists only in my dreams right now, I carry it in my heart, believing that someday, Afghan girls will live this story not in imagination, but in reality.