Kärlekens länkar

There are memories that burn themselves in, that refuse to fade however many years pass. One of them is the moment I first saw her – the girl who would change everything. Her name was Negina.

We were only children then, both at the same preschool, Setara. We lived in Macrorayan, one of Kabul's most modern districts, built during the Soviet era of the 1960s. The new buildings rose towards the sky, five and six storeys high, cast in concrete and painted in a pale shade already fading in the winds of time. It was a district meant to symbolise the future, success – and obedience.

The Setara preschool stood among those blocks like a pillar of order. Two storeys, straight and angular, its whitewashed walls marked by rain and dust. The square windows sat in strict rows, like watching eyes. Everything was symmetrical, almost military – as if the architecture itself wanted to tell us children how to stand, how to walk and how to think.

That is where it all began. In those colourful classrooms, among building blocks, crayons and laughter, a bond was born between us. A bond that grew stronger with time – and more painful.

I was the mischievous one, restless and always looking for adventure. She was my opposite – calm, wise, almost grown up in her manner. When I fell, she was the one who helped me up. When others teased her, I was the one who clenched my fists. We were like two halves of the same whole, and although we did not understand what love was, we knew we belonged together.

Negina was beautiful, but not in a fairy-tale way. Her beauty was quiet, self-evident, something that was simply there without needing to be seen. Her black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her eyes – large, dark, alive – carried a strength that made it impossible to look away. Every morning, when she stepped through the gate, she searched for me. And if I was late, I was the one restlessly looking for her.

On the days she did not come, the world felt empty. I did not want to play, did not want to run. But everything changes. School began, and without my understanding how, she disappeared from my life.

The years passed. Homework, breaks, new friends. The memories of her faded, slowly but surely, like a photograph losing its colour. But sometimes, without warning, her face would appear inside me – and then it ached, like an emptiness that refused to be filled.

Five years went by. It was the first day of the new school year. The streets were full of children in new clothes, with backpacks and dreams in their eyes. I was one of them – with no idea that this day would lead me back to her.

That was when I saw her. A girl was walking a little way ahead of me. She was tall, moving softly, almost gliding. Her hair was black as night, and her eyes – there was something about them. I tried to look away, but my body would not obey. I turned to look once more. And there, in the meeting of our eyes, I felt time stop.

My heart beat so hard I could hear it. It was her. Negina. My Negina.