When I first met Mohammed Hamo, he laughed at my family name, Al-Qershali, which refers to Palestinian biscuits drunk with warm milk or tea. I didn’t like his mockery but when he asked me if I wanted to join him for lunch at a falafel shop, I said yes.

We soon became friends, studying together and playing video games on my laptop. After our lessons we used to sit up together till dawn, playing PES, a competitive football game. We would argue over who would be Barcelona, because we both supported this team.

One day, Mohammed told me he wouldn’t be able to attend our lecture because Barcelona was playing and he didn’t want to miss the game. I was also skipping the lecture to watch the game. “We are like twins!” Mohammed said. “Let’s go together!”

At the end of our sophomore year, Mohammed introduced me to his friend Mahmoud Alyazji. He was the best student in the lectures, talking fluently in English without making a single mistake.

Mahmoud and I discovered that we both loved the anime series, “Attack on Titan.”

He started to join us in studying, playing video games, and going to restaurants. It was a relief to enjoy the company of friends after studying alone during the pandemic.

As the third year began, I was facing trouble with studying for a course in Romantic literature. Mahmoud’s friend, Khaled El-Hissy, had always obtained the highest marks in all courses among us. Mahmoud suggested that I talk to him. Khaled spent more than two hours explaining to me how to arrange my day properly to fit in studying.

“It is all about timing, Khaled,” he told me, “It is all about how you time and arrange your days.”

Khaled then suggested that he and Mahmoud and I should study all the shared courses together on a PDF file that synchronizes many accounts; we could add comments and help each other. We wanted Mohammed to join us, but he was specializing in translation so he wasn’t able to study with us.

Mahmoud, Khaled, and I started studying poetry, Romantic literature, and the comparative linguistics courses together.

Sometimes Khaled and I would go to Mahmoud’s house, studying together. Other times, Mahmoud and Khaled came to my house. We even slept over in each other’s houses to study for exams.

Our friendship grew vastly.

In the second semester of our junior year, Mohammed joined our circle. The Shakespeare course with Dr. Refaat Alareer brought us all together, sparking our motivation for studying.

Mahmoud was awarded a U.S. scholarship. We made the most of our time together during the summer vacation. On his last day in Gaza, Khaled had a stomach ache, but we all went to say goodbye to Mahmoud and hugged him. “Don’t worry,” he reassured us. “I’ll be back after a few months; it’s just one semester.”

I really wish it was “just one semester,” dear Mahmoud. It has been more than a year now.

At the start of our senior year, the three of us still in Gaza planned to continue working together, striving for high grades.

Our aims were thwarted by the outbreak of war on October 7, 2023. During the first week of the war, Khaled, Mohammed, and I were at our homes, staying in contact through the internet or phone calls.

On October 13, my family and I were compelled to leave our home, seeking refuge in a school in Deir Al-Balah, south of Gaza City. Surviving became a daily struggle for food, water, gas, and electricity to charge our phones. I was alone without any friends; I was struggling to search for any connection to talk with any of them.

The war made it hard for Mahmoud to concentrate on his studies in the U.S. His situation wasn’t helped by the difficulty he had maintaining communication with his family in Gaza.

On October 23, Khaled told me that he was at the Turkish-Palestinian Friendship Hospital. I asked, “Why?”

Khaled hesitated before delving into the grim reality.

He took me back to a time when he frequently complained about severe fever and stomach pains. “Remember those moments?” he asked. He continued, “My situation worsened. I found myself unable to get out of bed, my bones were feeling like they were on fire, and my temperature soared to 40 degrees.”

With a heavy heart, I asked for more details. His response hit me like a bombshell. “I’ve been diagnosed with blood cancer, leukemia.”

The weight of those words hung in the air, leaving me grappling with the harsh reality of Khaled’s health against the backdrop of the ongoing war. I prayed for his recovery. He expressed optimism, saying, “I’ll be better. My grandmother and I might travel abroad if we can, to seek chemotherapy treatment elsewhere.”

And in fact, they were able to leave on November 9, for Jordan, where Khaled has since been undergoing treatment and continuing his university studies.

His words moved me. I knew it was tough. The war had limited treatment available at the Turkish-Palestinian Friendship Hospital. I found myself alone in the school’s backyard, shedding tears, with Khaled’s brave words echoing in my ears: “In adversity, we find our strength.”

After days of no internet, I finally re-established contact with Khaled. He sent me two messages, informing me that Mohammed Hamo and his family had been killed.

I couldn’t believe him. I clung to the hope that it might be a mistake. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might not be true. I had messaged Mohammed on November 22, 2023, but there was no reply.

Mohammed had sought refuge at his cousin’s house to escape the danger in his neighborhood. I had urged him to come to the safer, southern part of Gaza, but he insisted on staying in his city, saying that he didn’t know anyone in the south and there was nowhere to go but tents.

“If I am going to die, I will die in my home in Gaza,” he said.

On November 24, Mohammed and his family were killed in an Israeli airstrike.

Mohammed, I vividly recall the joy in your laughter when we surprised you with a cake at the night of your birthday. Your smile while blowing out the candles stays with me.

I promise you, Mohammed, your memory will forever be green. Even though you were killed, you live on in our hearts.

No one will take your places, dear Mohammed, Khaled, and Mahmoud. Even though we are in different places now, our souls, minds, and hearts remain united.