Shards of window glass fell on the bed after an airstrike hit the neighboring home. Photo: Heleena Darwish

It was a Friday like any other. The sky was clear, and calmness filled the air. The streets were quiet, and everyone was busy preparing for the noon prayer. From my room’s window, I watched the worshippers walking towards the mosque near our home in Khan Younis. It was October 2023, during one of the heaviest bombing campaigns our city had ever witnessed.

Everything seemed normal, as if life was going on as usual… until something happened that changed everything.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a deafening scream. In an instant, the sky turned into hell. I saw rockets falling on our neighbor’s house, as if they were coming straight down from the sky toward us. For a moment, I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. All I could think of was my husband and my little daughter, who were standing at the entrance of our home.

The house shook violently with the sound of explosions. Glass shattered from the windows, and the air was filled with dust and debris. I rushed toward my husband, finding him holding our daughter in his arms, trying to shield her with his body, even though his head was bleeding from a visible wound. His face was full of pain, but his fear for us was greater than his own suffering.

I quickly tried to help him, but the house was crumbling around us, and the walls of our neighbor’s house were collapsing entirely. I felt like my heart stopped beating, as if the entire world had shattered in that moment.

Amid the chaos, I ran searching for first aid. The house was no longer the same. I returned quickly to my husband, who was trying to stay strong despite his injury, and to my daughter, who couldn’t understand what was happening around her. Her eyes were full of fear I couldn’t describe. I tried to calm her, to show her strength, but I wasn’t sure if I could hold it together myself.

Then I began to hear the sounds of ambulances. The scene was catastrophic. The bombing happened just as people were heading to the mosque, and the martyrs and the wounded numbered in the dozens.

Among everything I saw, the one image I will never forget is the way my husband’s face bore the weight of his pain, his strength unwavering for our sake.

At that moment, it felt as if the ground beneath me had vanished. The ordinary rhythm of life had shattered, leaving behind only chaos and fear. My mind raced with desperate questions — How could this be happening? Would we ever be the same again?

The weight of helplessness pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands trembled as I wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop, but no matter how many I brushed away, more kept falling.

As time passed, we began to hear the cries of our neighbors. Some were trying to escape with their children, others were searching for help. Despite the chaos, we started to cooperate and help one another.

Days stretched on endlessly, the air thick with dust and the remnants of shattered walls. The debris from the bombings still littered our home, a constant reminder of the destruction we had endured.

Glass and other debris littered the floor. Photo: Heleena Mushtaha

Yet, despite the chaos surrounding us, the most important thing was that I still had my husband and daughter beside me. We found ways to adapt — sweeping away rubble to clear a small space, rationing what little food we had, and finding comfort in each other’s presence.

Nights were the hardest, with every distant explosion sending a jolt of fear through me, but holding my daughter close reminded me of the strength we still had.

That experience completely changed my perspective on life. I began to appreciate the simple moments I once took for granted. I realized that safety is not found in walls or possessions, but in the presence of those we love. I learned that life is fragile, and that everything can change in the blink of an eye.

What we went through made me rethink my priorities. I no longer cared about the small things that used to bother me; instead, I began to seek meaning in the real things: love, family, and inner peace. This hardship taught me to be more grateful for every moment I live with those I love, and to never take any ordinary day for granted, for it could be a blessing we don’t recognize.

Despite the pain and loss, I realized that endurance is our only choice. We live to tell our stories, to preserve our memories, and to carry hope in our hearts, no matter how dark the sky may be.