Her hands were frigid and numb

I am Hamid Rafi living in Kabul. My youngest sister Rahela, was in the 12th grade when she shared her goals with me: She wanted to pass her general university admission exam, improve her English and secure a scholarship to study abroad. To help achieve her goals, I registered her at a tutoring centre. One day, I was on my way home when I received a call from a relative, asking me if Rahela was home as there had been an exploration at a tutoring centre. I called home to check and heard that Rahela was not back. By the time I reached her class, all the victims had been transferred to hospitals. I checked each hospital one by one but I couldn’t find Rahela. At about 10:30 in the night, my father and I visited the last hospital. We moved toward the only body of a girl that was yet to be claimed. My father looked at her face and “This is not my daughter. Where is the other half of her head?” I checked the body too. I looked at her lips. They were familiar. Her clothes were all burned. When I touched her hands, they were frigid and numb. Then a doctor on duty said “This watch belongs to this body.” I recognised the watch because I had bought it for her. I did not have the courage to tell my family what had happened to Rahela. The next day, I took Rahela’s body out of the hospital to a mosque. While sitting beside her dead body, I was still hoping that someone would call me from home and tell me that everything was fine. Rahela took all her dreams and hopes to her grave.