So many of my friends had recommended this book. It had always been on my to-read list, lingering there for years. Recently, another friend mentioned it again, and while browsing a bookstore, I finally picked it up. I finished it in less than seven days. That doesn’t prove I’m a fast reader—it simply shows how powerful a storyteller Khaled Hosseini is. This is the kind of story that grips you, makes you restless, and tempts you to return to its pages the moment you wake. I had to curb my impatience and save it for my late evenings, almost like a ritual.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. I can only echo the world when it says Khaled Hosseini is an extraordinary storyteller.

At its heart, A Thousand Splendid Suns is a story of resilience and hope. My own understanding of tolerance, suffering, and endurance has been stretched beyond measure by this book. It is heartbreaking, and yet profoundly inspiring. From this perspective, the everyday constraints and limitations of an average woman feel like nothing more than a teacup compared to the vast ocean of suffering that these two girls had to endure.

I would recommend this book to anyone and everyone. I won’t spoil the plot here, but I do want to share a few things that stood out to me:

Mariam’s curiosity to explore the world beyond her limited boundaries. Her exposure to people and experiences was so little, and yet she treasured every glimpse of it. Her guilt at losing the one solid connection she had—someone she lost because of her adventurous spirit—was moving. The way Hosseini captures the slow evolution of guilt, emotion, and thought over time is simply beautiful.

Laila’s resilience—her refusal to lose hope for a better future, no matter how harsh her circumstances became. In her childhood, she had known a richer life filled with intellect, friendships, and human connection. Her father nurtured in her the dream of contributing to her motherland, of living for something greater than herself. And the moment life gave her the chance, she quite literally crossed mountains to make that dream a reality.

The patriarchy—depicted in all its cruelty, where women are controlled and manipulated, and men are conditioned not just to ignore guilt, but to feel entitled to such power. It reminded me of a line I once read:

People can do almost anything to avoid feeling pain—including causing pain to others and abusing power.

The book closes with a quiet, grounded hope. Not the dreamy, rose-tinted hope of fairy tales, but a realistic one: a vision where people do what they can to make the world better, while also accepting the limits of their control. There’s a deep wisdom in that acceptance—it feels like the most honest way to live.

For me, A Thousand Splendid Suns is not just a novel—it’s a benchmark. A benchmark for resilience, for tolerance, for storytelling itself. It is one of my all-time favourite reads, and I would urge you, if you ever get the chance, to read it too.