At nights our eyes were all out on stalks at the skimpy clothes that women wore – tiny shorts almost like knickers and bare legs on the highest heels even in the middle of winter.
My mother was so horrified that she cried, 'Gharqa shoma!' – 'I'm drowning' – and begged my father, 'Please take me to Dubai. I can't live here!'
Later we laughed about it. 'Are their legs made of iron so they don't feel cold?' asked my mother.
We were warned not to be out late on Broad Street on weekend nights as it could be dangerous. This made us laugh.
How could it be unsafe compared to where we had come from? Were there Taliban beheading people?
I didn't tell my parents but I flinched if an Asian-looking man came close. I thought everyone had a gun.
Once a week I Skyped my friends back in Mingora, and they told me they were still keeping a seat in class for me.
The teacher had brought to class my Pakistan Studies exam from that day, the day of the shooting.
I had got 75 out of 75, but as I never did the others, Malka-e-Noor got first in class.
Though I had been getting some schooling at the hospital, I worried that I was falling behind.
Now the competition was between Malka-e-Noor and Moniba.
'It's boring without you to compete with,' Malka-e-Noor told me.
I was getting stronger every day, but my surgery wasn't over.
I still had the top of my skull missing. The doctors were also concerned about my hearing.
When I went for walks I could not understand the words of my mother and father in a crowd.
And inside my ear was a tinny noise which only I could hear.