26 years later, from the winter of 1975. 26 years earlier since I should have done this. So there I was, sitting with Rahim Khan inside his little torn up house. J asked him whether Hassan was still at the house or not, Baba's house. He showed me a Polaroid picture of Hassan and his first and only son Sohrab. With that was a couple of letters that were addressed to me. The Kabul that Hassan and I knew and loved was gone. At least that's what Hassan was trying to tell me throughout these letters. He complained about the Taliban abusing their power and attacking his wife Farzana for speaking a little too loudly to a potentially deaf vendor at a market. Hassan had named his son after a character from our favourite story, from when we were children. He took Sohrab to our old pomegranate tree where he read to his son. He was waiting for me to come home and he was still faithful to me. I had felt a spark of hope that I would be able to see Hassan again, finally apologize and make things right but all this hope was built up only to be crushed. .
Rahim told me that these letters were written six months ago, when he had left the house seeking medical attention for his condition. The Taliban raided Baba's house and eventually killed Hassan along with his wife along the streets of their old neighbourhood. All I could think of when Rahim told me these words that was the injustice in which Baba would have no accepted from our neighbours. Nobody dare stood up to the Taliban as they knew they would have been killed too, attempting to defend a couple of Hazaras. No one was willing to risk anything for a pair of Hazara servants and I was even more ashamed to admit that if I am still the person I was 26 years ago, I would not have either. .
Rahim asked me to go back Kabul and to bring Sohrab to Afghanistan where a Christian couple would take care of him. They run an organization in Peshawar for children who have lost their parents.