I feel like you might be upset with me because I haven’t called or checked on you for a long time. I feel disconnected from everything I love. My mind is full of story ideas but after work and classes I am so tired that writing feels like a dream.
Every day I make excuses to my stories:
I will definitely write you, just wait for things to get better and for me to feel relaxed
Sometimes I think I will have free time but I get busy with other things and the days just pass by.
Today for an hour I left everything. I put my phone away and locked the door so I could be alone with my stories.
I walked around the room and then sat down to think about all the old topics. There were several Word pages open on my laptop but each page had only a title. Just the name of a story, nothing more.
I felt hot and restless so I opened the window. In the street I saw girls, my sisters, in hijabs walking. For a few days my father hasn’t let them go out because the situation isn’t good. But after he leaves they go to their courses and madrasas.
I watched them until they were gone. The sun was hitting my eyes so I closed the window and forced myself to think of a way to get back to the lost stories. Now, again, I am staring at the blank white pages of Word documents on my computer. The black titles still remain.