Amir agha, with my deepest respects. My wife and son and I pray this letter finds you in fine health, and in the light of God's good graces.
I'm hopeful that one day I will hold one of your letters in my hands and read of your life in America. I am trying to learn English. It's such a tricky language. But one day, agha. I miss your stories.
I've included a picture of me and my son, Sohrab. He's a good boy. Rahim Khan and I taught him how to read and write, so he doesn't grow up stupid like his father. And can he shoot with that slingshot you gave me!
But I fear for him, Amir agha. The Afghanistan of our youth is long dead. Kindness is gone from the land, and you cannot escape the killings. Always the killings. I dream that God will guide us to a better day. I dream that my son will grow up to be a good person, a free person, an important person.
I dream that flowers will bloom in the streets of Kabul again, and music will play in the samovar houses, and kites will fly in the skies. And I dream that someday you will return to Kabul to revisit the land of our childhood. If you do, you'll find an old faithful friend waiting for you.
May God be with you always.
Hassan
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