Chapters (72)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part I
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Part II
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- Chapter 61
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Nadia Hashimi
- About the Publisher
Imperialism and colonialism are two-handed thieves, robbing nations of their destinies and their histories. The artifacts of Ai-Khanoum, like Afghans displaced by war, can be found around the world. The plunder of antiquities is receiving more thoughtful ink these days. I recommend Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul, and Afghan Art and Architecture through the Ages by Hamid Naweed for those interested in the arts and civilizations unearthed by archaeologists.
Aryana’s story is not my story, though I leaned into my personal experiences more for her than perhaps any other character I’ve written. Like me, she was an Afghan American physician in training in New York City on 9/11, when America’s gaze swiveled back to Afghanistan and struggled to sort out friend from foe. And as physicians, both of us have had the privilege of sitting with families in their most vulnerable moments.
In the years since the coup, conflict in Afghanistan has claimed far too many lives. Those who survived plod forward bearing scars and trauma. Nadia Anjuman, a poet murdered by her husband, left behind verses that are fusions of hurt and hope. The title of this book comes from her stirring work, The Night’s Poetry.
I hope I’ve done this sliver of history justice.
Acknowledgments
My village came through for me again and I am more grateful than ever. To my husband, who wears a great many hats when it comes to my stories, your belief in me sustains me. Thank you to my beloved early readers and cheerleaders—Mom, Dad, and Uncle Isah. To my most precious book club—Zoran, Zayla, Kyrus, Cyra—may we always gather over stories. To my circles of friends and family, I can’t imagine this journey without you. You know who you are.
Thank you to Louise Taylor, a former Foreign Service officer stationed in Kabul during the Saur Revolution, who provided invaluable insights. To those who collected and curated the oral histories at the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training, I have spent hours delving into the past and enjoyed every bit of it. Thank you for making this available. A princess wave to Arzo Wardak, who helped nudge Anastasia into this story.
Helen Heller, you bring every manuscript I give you closer to its destined form. Your instincts are invaluable. Rachel Kahan, you are a true ally and make bookshelves adventurous, richer, and more honest reflections. Big hugs of gratitude to you both.
Many thanks to the team at William Morrow who have beautifully packaged this story and helped deliver it to readers—Mumtaz Mustafa, Cindy Buck, Jennifer Hart, Stephanie Vallejo, Allison Hargraves, Camille Collins, Kaitie Leary, and Liate Stehlik.