Ask the Author: Afreen S
Answered Questions (2)
Afreen S
I tucked my son into bed, kissed his forehead, and closed his closet door like I did every night. As I turned off the light, a small voice whispered from inside the closet, "Daddy, there's someone in my bed."
Afreen S
The greatest mystery of my life isn’t a hidden conspiracy or an unsolved crime—it’s the quiet, persistent question that lingers in the spaces between stories I read and the ones I dream of writing: What is my purpose beyond personal joy?
Books have always been my escape, my anchor, and my rebellion. Especially stories about women who love women—narratives that have been erased, silenced, or forced into the margins. In their pages, I find echoes of myself, but also something deeper: a longing to not just consume these stories, but to contribute to them.
And yet, I wonder—does writing and reading for personal fulfillment suffice? Or is there a larger purpose waiting beyond the simple act of storytelling? Maybe it’s about creating something that makes another woman, somewhere, feel seen for the first time. Maybe it’s about shaping a space where these stories don’t just exist in niche corners but take center stage. Or maybe it’s about breaking the silence that still lingers around our lives, even in a world that claims to be more accepting.
The clues are scattered—conversations with like-minded readers, the thrill of discovering an author who dared to write without apology, the sense that my words could mean something to someone beyond myself.
Like any good mystery, the answer isn’t obvious. But the journey is the point. And if I’m lucky, maybe one day, my words will be part of the answer for someone else, too.
Books have always been my escape, my anchor, and my rebellion. Especially stories about women who love women—narratives that have been erased, silenced, or forced into the margins. In their pages, I find echoes of myself, but also something deeper: a longing to not just consume these stories, but to contribute to them.
And yet, I wonder—does writing and reading for personal fulfillment suffice? Or is there a larger purpose waiting beyond the simple act of storytelling? Maybe it’s about creating something that makes another woman, somewhere, feel seen for the first time. Maybe it’s about shaping a space where these stories don’t just exist in niche corners but take center stage. Or maybe it’s about breaking the silence that still lingers around our lives, even in a world that claims to be more accepting.
The clues are scattered—conversations with like-minded readers, the thrill of discovering an author who dared to write without apology, the sense that my words could mean something to someone beyond myself.
Like any good mystery, the answer isn’t obvious. But the journey is the point. And if I’m lucky, maybe one day, my words will be part of the answer for someone else, too.
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