Stories by Rasmorawaj

Our Love is Like Kabul Jan - Nasrin and Ehsaan

Our Love is Like Kabul Jan - Nasrin and Ehsaan

Nasrin smiled as Ehsaan took his hands off her eyes, and the city of Kabul appeared before her, sprawled in a beautiful sea of colors. Ehsaan had brought her here...
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The Mirror Seller

The Mirror Seller

"Oh Bacha!" I called out as I hurried towards the young boy with the carpeted mirrors hanging off his shoulder.
He was darting in and out of the crowd on Mandai Market, as though the cartography of the street was embedded into his feet and he was simply scurrying through the street absentmindedly, unbothered by the rush.
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Pakol - Hamid

Pakol - Hamid

Hamid eyed the array of colorful pakols lined up in front of him, unable to choose.

He wanted to bring back the best of the best for his friends in America; they had wanted him to bring back souvenirs that were ‘watani’ and he decided that pakols would be the best gift for them.
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Shahbaz and Laila

Shahbaz and Laila

As Shahbaz gently offered her the flower, their hands brushed slightly and Laila blushed. She hadn’t seen him in months, and now that he was back from fighting in the war, it felt strange to be near him again. She felt like it was a dream. She never wanted to wake up from it.
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Eyes of a Child

Eyes of a Child

It wasn't her eyes that made people stop and stare. At least it wasn't just that.

It was the way she looked at them, her neutral gaze, expressionless and yet so intense.

How a child her age could learn to place such maturity in her expression was a question many had asked but had never been able to answer.
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Carpet Seller - Yousef

Carpet Seller - Yousef

Yousef’s voice mingled with the other voices in the bazaar, and although he knew he needed to shout louder to be heard, he didn’t. He called out to customers half heartedly, gesturing at the beautiful rug he had hung over his shoulder for display, as he sat at the door of his shop, waiting to attract the attention of buyers. 
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Fouzia

Fouzia

Fouzia was tired. The car's tires were kicking up dust into her face, but she chose to ignore it. She wanted to have her cigarette and the dust was something she'd come to accept.
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Bubble Gum

Bubble Gum

The thing that caught my eye about him was the air of nonchalance he carried in his posture. He wandered the street like he had no care in the world, blowing out a bubble with the piece of gum he had been chewing, and popping it loudly with his finger each time it was about to deflate on its own.
He stood out from the rest of the people of Kabul that I had seen before; he seemed carefree.

 

Story and illustration by @rasmorawaj ©

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