Chapter Twenty-Eight We parked Shujah’s Volga at the bottom of a concrete road in Khair Khana. Under the blazing sun of mid-afternoon climbed up a hill you’d say had been drawn by a nursery student with fancy colours: the hill accommodated hundreds of detached and semi-detached houses: some mud and others concrete; some single-storeyed…

Chapter Twenty-Seven The unpredictable life of the airport gave way to the safety of Shujah’s home and his family: Nazigul, her 13-year-old, and four-year-old daughters and the six-year-old twin sons. After freshening up and exchanging news about the fedayi bomber, and after I implored Mour, Nazigul and Shujah to stop discussing the horrifying experience,…

Chapter Twenty-Six ‘Ahmad, pay attention,’ Mour said. ‘Seat belt,’ a Turkish air stewardess said. ‘Sorry, miles away.’ Traumatic memories rippled through me and I hadn’t even set foot on its soil. I pulled out the strap from underneath Mour and pushed it into the buckle. ‘Don’t forget why we named you Ahmad,’ Mour said.…

Chapter Twenty-Five My sisters flailed their hands, screaming ‘Mour’. ‘Please save my daughters!’ Mour cried above the deafening outboard motor noise. She banged her head against a man to the right; her headscarf had slipped to her shoulders. The man wouldn’t release his grabbing of Mour’s arms. Another asylum seeker held the man’s belt…

Chapter Twenty-Four For weeks, my only companions were insomnia, nightmares and regrets. I mulled over my response in the past few days leading to our departure from Kabul and wondered if I could’ve done anything to stop Frishta’s death from happening. If only I told her I loved her. She would’ve been with us.…

Chapter Twenty-Three The middle-aged translator, who had a haircut like Raziq Khan, required a week. After doubling the money he asked for up-front, the man agreed to translate the diary on the spot. Opposite my wobbly chair on the wall had been stuck a photo of the Shrine of Ali; beneath it read: A…

Chapter Twenty-Two ‘Zoya, wake up. We’re going,’ Mour’s voice said. ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘We’re leaving.’ ‘I’m not coming.’ ‘Ahmad, it’s 3pm. We’re leaving now.’ Agha’s voice again. I rubbed my eyes and opened them to see a sack by Agha’s legs next to the burning lamb. I realised and jumped to my feet, hitting…