A Daughter of My Uncle Part One

#novel

A Daughter of My Uncle

Part One

Writer: Said Idrees Sadat

Native story language: Pashto

The Beginning:

It was midnight, and the night was already half gone. Outside my room, white snow was falling silently.

I was asleep in my warm bed when suddenly my phone rang.

Still half-asleep, I picked it up and said softly,

“Hello, who’s this?”

There was silence on the other side. I sighed and asked again,

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Then a sweet, gentle voice replied,

“Hi, I’m Meena Sahar, your uncle’s daughter. I’m so sorry for disturbing you at this hour, but I just arrived in Kabul. I don’t know anyone here. My father gave me your number and told me to call you when I reached safely.”

I rubbed my eyes and said,

“Are you serious? It’s freezing cold outside, and the snow hasn’t stopped… Alright, Sahar, I’ll come for you.”

I quickly washed my face, put on a jacket, a wool cap, and wrapped a scarf around my neck. Then I went to the garage and started the car. Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t asked her where she was. Kabul is a big city. I called again.

She answered, “I’m near the Nangarhar bus stand. It’s very cold. Please hurry.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll be there soon.”

From Kot-e-Sangi, I drove through the snowy streets until I reached the bus stand. I looked around, but there was no sign of any girl. Snow kept falling heavily. I walked inside the station—still no one. Confused, I stepped back onto the street and called again.

“Sahar, where are you exactly?”

She replied, “I’m at the far end of the bus stand. There’s a man selling soup under a big umbrella. I’m sitting right there. Please come quickly.”

I had passed that spot earlier, but I hadn’t noticed her. This time when I walked over, she was really there.

The girl was shivering in the cold. She wore a black hijab like the girls from Nangarhar. She was tall, with a round face, big eyes that peeked out from under her scarf, and a graceful figure.

I stood there, astonished. I had never imagined such a beautiful girl could be from my own family. Truly, in that moment, she seemed perfect.

I prefer this response.

I took off my jumper and gently wrapped it around the girl. Then I invited her to step into the car.

She got inside, removed her hijab, and began wiping her neck with a small cloth. I could see her reflection in the front mirror as she cleaned her neck. She brushed her hands over parts of her body as well, and then suddenly turned to me and said:

“Why are you staring at me like that? Haven’t you ever seen a girl before?”

“No, no,” I quickly replied. “It’s nothing like that. Welcome, I’m glad you’re safe now.”

I pulled the handbrake and drove off.

We passed Arzan Qeemat market, and when we reached Abdulhaq Square, I decided to take a shortcut through the narrow, unpaved streets that would lead directly to Kot-e-Sangi. The road was quiet.

But after a while, the car suddenly stopped. The fuel tank was full, nothing seemed wrong—but the car wouldn’t move.

I tried again and again, but it refused to start.

I turned to Sahar and said, “Look, our place isn’t far. Let me walk you home, and I’ll come back for the car later.”

But she shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. Then she leaned forward, opened the hood, and began tapping parts of the engine with her fingers.

I stared at her in disbelief—she was already beautiful, and now she looked even more extraordinary. Her face was glowing, fair with a natural blush, without a single mark. Her neck shone like polished crystal.

After a moment she smiled and said, “Try it now, Sahil. The car should start.”

I turned the key, and to my surprise, the engine roared back to life.

Her hands were blackened with grease. She pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and carefully cleaned them.

I turned to her, amazed. “How did you even know what was wrong? How did you fix it so quickly?”

She laughed softly. “Don’t you know? My father—your uncle—is a car mechanic. When I was a child, I used to spend hours in the garage with him, learning everything. That’s why I can handle small problems like this.”

In my heart, I silently praised her.

Soon, we reached Kot-e-Sangi. I bought some hot fried fish, but throughout the way I kept stealing glances at her every few seconds. And whenever her eyes met mine, I would quickly look away, pretending to notice something else.

Don't miss the next episode tomorrow night at 9pm on this account.

waiting....

“The full novel costs 1 dollar. If you want it, please leave a message at the number below

0731363201