“Another Monday!” Zara groaned, stuffing an unfinished mathematics assignment into her bag. She sighed as she slung the backpack over her shoulder.
Her mother smiled. “One day you will miss these school mornings!”
“I doubt it,” Zara laughed before hurrying out the door.
Hundreds of kilometres away, 16-year-old Laila waited until the house fell silent. She reached beneath her mattress and carefully pulled out a worn biology textbook. Its pages were old, some torn, but to her, they were more precious than gold.
“Some dreams had to remain invisible,” she thought then went on to study it for just 20 minutes before hiding it again.
That day, at Zara’s school, a social project was announced in which students were asked to write letters to people their age in different parts of the world. The destinations were chosen randomly by the school management. The class buzzed with excitement about the unusual project.
Within two weeks, everyone started receiving letters and Zara, too, received her first letter.
“Dear Zara,
My name is Laila. I love drinking tea and rainy mornings. I also like reading books. If I could choose any profession, I would become a doctor because I want to help people.”
Zara smiled and eagerly wrote back. She told Laila about school assemblies, noisy classrooms, surprise quizzes and how her best friend always borrowed her pens without returning them.
Soon, the letters became something both girls looked forward to. They exchanged jokes, recommended books and spoke about their dreams. Despite living in different countries, they discovered they were not so different after all.
One afternoon, Zara unfolded a new letter.
“You wrote that you are nervous about the science exam,” Laila wrote. “I hope you do well. I miss studying science. Sometimes I read my old textbooks at home when no one is watching.”
Zara frowned. Why would someone need to hide a textbook?
In her reply, she asked gently, “Why don’t you study at school?”
Weeks passed before Laila answered. “Because I can’t go anymore. The school gates closed for girls like me. But my dream did not.”
Zara read those two sentences again and again. She looked around her own classroom. Students whispered during lessons. Someone complained about homework. Another wished the school day would end sooner.
For the first time, Zara realised that the classroom she had often taken for granted was someone else’s greatest wish.
Some time passed. Zara checked the mailbox every afternoon. Nothing. She wondered if she had said something wrong. Finally, nearly a month later, an envelope appeared. The handwriting was shakier than before.
“We had to move to stay with relatives,” Laila wrote. “I carried only a few clothes, family photographs and my biology book. People say I should stop dreaming about becoming a doctor. But dreams don’t disappear just because doors get closed. I hope they will open again one day!”
A few weeks later, Zara stood nervously on her school’s stage during the International Women’s Day assembly. She looked at the audience and unfolded her speech. Then she folded it back.
Instead of reading what she had prepared, she spoke from her heart.
“I used to think freedom meant choosing my favourite subjects or complaining about homework.”
She paused. “Then I met someone my age who would give anything just to sit in a classroom again.”
The hall fell silent.
“I still have the freedom to learn, ask questions and dream aloud.” She took a slow breath before continuing, “But freedom loses its meaning when countless girls are denied those same chances.”
“When one girl’s classroom is locked, every classroom in the world becomes a little less free.”
That evening, Zara opened her notebook. She wasn’t writing an assignment this time. At the top of a blank page, she wrote the words that had been echoing in her mind for weeks:
No woman is free until all women are free.
Published in Dawn, Young World, August 22nd, 2026
