Shireen gave Zainab a list of potential candidates for her partisan organization the following week.

As Zainab considered the options, she inhaled deeply.

“What about the girls, Shireen? How do you suggest approaching them?”

“We must include idealists with resilience in our team.” Shireen answered. “I have compiled a list of possible contenders: instructors and senior students who have lost loved ones in the conflict.”

“We must assess their motivation before asking if they are ready to give up their existence so that others like them can have a better tomorrow.”

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Warda loved her school. It was located in a relatively safe district of Kabul with quite a few check posts on route.

The cobbled compound of the secondary school building was bathed in an inviting radiance from the sun of the spring of 1983. After a three-day break, the children gathered to sing the national anthem and chatted excitedly about the bombings that shook Kabul four days earlier. The Mujahideen had fired rockets towards the metropolis; several dropped close to their school.

With laughter resonating across the classroom, the kids walked in.

“Children, please settle down!” The class teacher declared, “We will devote the first part of the lesson to our regular studies and the second to a unique activity.”

As the first half of the class came to an end, Shireen entered the class and observed her pupils for a few moments.

She smiled, her hands clenched in front of her chest, as if to galvanise herself into revealing a secret that she found difficult to share with her students.

“Dear students! We are delighted to have a dear friend return today.” There was suddenly silence in the room as the children looked at their teacher intently, searching for a clue regarding the mysterious companion.

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Shireen’s lips were quivering with emotion.

“Shandana is back!” She managed to utter.

With a creak, the door opened. There were muffled expressions of pain and grief as a middle-aged woman, wearing a sorrowful smile, pushed the twelve-year-old Shandana in a wheelchair along the passageway.

Shandana looked hesitant and sombre as the wheelchair finally rotated to face the class.

She had not only lost her legs but also the compassionate and protective companionship of her parents when their Jeep blew up after hitting a landmine. The dreadful event took place when Shandana and her family were travelling to her grandparents’ house in the backcountry to spend the school break with their grandparents and cousins.

While the rest of the class froze in dismay, Warda summoned the courage to approach Shandana. She bent slightly to hug her and kissed her forehead. “Your hair has grown. Look, they are longer than mine,” as she gently pulled Shandana’s braided hair.

“Auntie!” Warda politely addressed the lady who had come with Shandana: “From here on, we will take care of Shandana. She needs to catch up with the class.”

The lady looked at Shireen, who nodded in agreement. Warda gently pushed the wheelchair in a direction, so that its back was to the children.

Shireen took Warda’s hint and gestured to her pupils to move further away from Shandana. She gently invited them to participate in outdoor activities with her during the designated free period of the day.

“Just behave as you usually do every day. Look at her face rather than her legs, and remember, she needs your love and support.” Tears were rolling as they all bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

During the free period, Warda directed an agile classmate to fasten an old dented metal bin to the basketball pole, at a lower height, with a steel wire. She, then, asked Shandana to toss the ball into the bin. The rest of the class applauded and placed the chairs in a semicircle. The competition began to determine who could toss the ball into the bin the most times and emerge victorious.

For those unworried moments, Shandana was unmindful of her physical deficiency and emotional anguish.

Shireen was observing Warda from the window in her class when Zainab joined her. “That is an extraordinary individual,” Shireen announced as though her companion had aroused her from hibernation.

“She is indeed... imagine what she has gone through.”

“No, Warda. Without shedding a tear, she has demonstrated boundless empathy and abundant kindness. She is born to lead.”

“She is young.” For the first time, Zainab turned her head and looked searchingly at Shireen, who continued to gaze at Warda.

“She is ready,” Shireen replied.