Jalil and Zarmina

I wanted to express my love to Zarmina and show her how much she means to me. So I told her,
“Dear Zarmina, if you allow me, today I want to play with your lovely hair.”
Zarmina gathered all her hair in her hand, gave it to me, and said,
“Here, play with them, but don’t mess them up!”

Seeing Zarmina’s hair and a bald man's head at the same time, all the dreams I had once seen in Zarmina’s eyes sank like a stone in the river.
I was completely shocked, thinking, “Oh God, was this the result of my four years of struggle?”
I had imagined that just like people in the developed world find love on social media and then build their lives together, I too would follow that path and become the first person from Afghanistan to achieve this honor. But I had no idea that Zarmina was no less than a sorceress.

Now, I even doubt those old dreams, wondering if one of them might suddenly bring out a guy like Akram Waqaar or Karim Zakhil!
Zarmina, may God turn you into a crazy wandering woman in Sheikh Mesri camp, just like you made me.
I even messaged Hemdard Shinwari and asked him to write me some painful poetry to ease my sorrow — but he too has gone silent. It seems he, like Zarmina, has also betrayed me.

One morning, before the sun had fully spread its wings over the land, I was lying on a bed under a tree in the yard when a strong hit struck me on the heel.
As I opened my eyes, I saw Zarmina standing over me, laughing.
Honestly, that blow felt like I had been hit by a rocket.
I said, “God help me, Zarmina, what brings you here in the darkness of night?”
She said, “Get up, child of the dark night! The roosters are crowing. My father is sick, and we need to gather some ‘shuftal’ (fodder) for our cow.”

Zarmina was very beautiful—long hair, fair cheeks, almond-shaped eyes—but her hair had been scorched by the sun of Sheikh Mesri, and they were clearly artificial.
I rubbed my eyes, got up, and told her, “Give me the scarf and shawl, and go back home. I’ll go and cut the fodder and bring it to the yard.”
But Zarmina replied, “No, I’ll come with you too.”

I walked ahead, and she followed behind me. Meanwhile, I was softly singing Javid Amarkhil’s song:
“This year I’ll come with heavy rains,
Just wait for me at the border, my love.”

With this song in my heart, we reached the field. I began cutting the fodder, lost in thoughts of Zarmina.
It was probably the last bundle I was cutting when Zarmina’s scream shattered my dreamland.
She yelled, “You’re holding a snake in your hand!”

At her words, I lost all awareness. I threw both the snake and the bundle into her arms and sprinted to the yard.
When I opened my eyes again in the yard, Zarmina was standing by my side with half of the snake in her hand and said,
“Wake up, brave one! You cut a snake along with the fodder and then ran from a dead snake like it was alive!”
I laughed and told her,
“Dear, I was just joking! I didn’t run from the live one — why would I run from a dead one?”
And with that, I hid my fear behind a false sense of bravery.

Zarmina said, “Come on, I’ve bundled the fodder, put it on your head so we can go.”
I replied, “How can you carry it when I’m here?”

Not: "This is the first part of this story, and it's a long and delightful love tale. Like it to see the upcoming parts published."