Power retired at the top of his game, as number one in the world. He never left squash. Instead he set up a national academy in his home town of Toronto, looking to find talent in people from places squash rarely reaches. Pakay's letter melted him. It read:
I'm Maria Toor Pakay Wazir. I belong to South Waziristan agency of Pakistan's tribal areas on the Pak-Afghan border. South Waziristan one of Pakistan's most turbulent tribal agencies and the home to Taliban is also my home. Here girls of my age are passing their lives in such miserable conditions.
They are restricted to four walls despite having the desire to come out of the Stone Age and get assimilated with the rest of the world.
I will be waiting for your positive response.
Maria Toor Pakay Wazir, professional squash player.
Power was moved to reply, and soon Pakay was on a flight to Canada.
"It's unbelievable," he said.
"She left on just hope, on a one-way ticket and 200 bucks on an email promise from me."
The aim for Pakay is to be world champion. She works from morning to night with Power, moving up the rankings as she gets close to realizing her dream.
Being away from her family is tough. She talks to them every day on the internet. She scours the news sites looking for information on suicide bombings and killings, praying they are nowhere near her home. So far, they haven't been.
"The timeline is 'till she's world champion and she goes home with a trophy," Power asserted confidently. "There is no substitute."
Yet in a region where some revile a woman's sporting success, a world championship has extra problems. More publicity, greater exposure, increased danger. That doesn't matter to Pakay. Success could open up opportunities for others like her, playing squash or lifting weights or kicking a soccer ball in their bedrooms as they wait for the world outside to change.
"Someone wants to kill me? Kill me once I bring the change and I become a world champion," she said.
"But not before."