Two stylized women in a felt animation style in a rustic kitchen, one washing dishes and tasting jam, the other stirring a pot.

یک تصویر مشابه انیمیشن فیلتد یا نمدی برای این داستان برام درست کن:I was washing the dishes. The clatter of the plates echoed in my head like the sound of gunfire. The war itself had ended, but the battle fought between my memories never would. “Marveh!” my mother called out. I jumped, as if someone had suddenly jolted me awake. “Yes, Mother Jan!” I replied. “Marveh! Go see if the jam has reached its setting point!” I rinsed my hands and approached the pot. The plum jam was boiling, and inside me, something began to boil too—a feeling that had shaken my soul years ago was waking up again. My mother instructed: “Taste it, see if the sweetness is just right.” Reluctantly, I scooped a spoonful of jam. I waited for it to cool. With trembling hands, I brought the spoon to my mouth. But it was neither sweet nor even sour. For me, it tasted of blood. The Republic had fallen, and a military state gripped the entire country. Father had heard that people, operating under the name of the Taliban, were entering homes, assaulting young girls, and stealing money, gold, and belongings. He told my mother: “In Khanabad district, they separated a girl from her fiancé and forced her into marriage at gunpoint.” My mother, her lips pressed tightly together, finally spoke after a long silence, her voice trembling: “To hell with the money and gold. May God grant us a death with dignity.” Then, in a voice quieter than before, she added, “We can’t stay here anymore. This homeland is no longer a place Mehr sehen