short stories

Hi, I'm going to Starbucks, can you meet me there?
Which one?
The one on the beach, Yusuf is invited to a party nearby and I'll kill the time at Starbucks until he is done.
Where exactly?...

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Translated by Rashid Khattak

I opened my eyes. The first voice I heard was my own cries. Then voices congratulating each other made a noise. The abundance of light forced me to close my eyes again. The noise...

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We will become friends, it's not possible to continue this way:
I avoided asking him, I told him this as a decision, I was afraid he would begin talking about things I was done with years ago.

I...

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Despite a creative writing culture within Afghani universities, many young writers remain silenced—either lacking access to publishing opportunities or fearful to share their ideas. The purpose of this project is to...

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A short story by Mohibullah Zegham (from my first collection of short stories “Hill in the Human”)

Translated by Rashid Khattak

It was a market day. I had loaded 16 sacks full of potatoes in a truck and...

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Did you see me? Of course you didn’t. I didn’t see me either. I was walking in the street, my hair flying in the wind. You know my hair, it isn’t thick and heavy; it’s light and soft, that’s why it was easy...

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I wake up tense, the way I used to feel at the start of the war. I open my clenched fists, I don't say good morning to myself. I can't. Yusuf is asleep next to me, hasn't changed his habits, wakes up in the...

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