
Tasneem Mohamed Abu Silmiya was always sitting on the steps of the Madinah Munawwarah building, with her book in hand, her glasses on, and her bag full of books and notes beside her. She had a habit of coming to class early in the morning. Whenever I arrived, she would say, “Suzan, I’ve saved you a seat in the front row.” She was a model of dedication.
During breaks, I would go down to the university square, and I remember Tasneem calling out out, “Suzan, Suzan, I’m here. Didn’t you see me?” I didn’t notice her at first, but then I saw her rushing toward me, her bag on her back and books in her hands. Out of breath, she said, “I called to you, but you didn’t respond. I got tired running.” She caught my cheeks in her ink-stained hands, grabbed my hand, and took me to buy her favorite grape juice, saying, “Let’s head to the library to read one of Shakespeare’s plays.”
Tasneem, as a student of English literature, loved everything that connected her to her field of study. She spent most of her time in libraries losing herself in the world of books and novels, and this made her happy.
At the library, I would often search for my favorite books and jot down quotes I liked. Once, Tasneem picked out four books, placed them in my hands, and said, “Sit down, Suzan. I’ll find more.” After waiting for what seemed ages, I realized she had disappeared. I searched for her and found her in a corner of the library, wearing her glasses, a pen in hand, reading her favorite play, “Hamlet,” with a cup of hot coffee beside her.
Slightly annoyed at her disappearance, I said, “I waited so long. I guessed you must have been distracted.” She replied in her calming smile, “How many times have I told you, Suzan? If you can’t find me, know I’m with Hamlet.”
Tasneem loved tragic stories and plays, and her favorite was “Hamlet.” It was included in the English literature curriculum, and we studied it in detail. Sometimes I wonder if Tasneem’s love of tragic plays didn’t somehow connect with her fateful end.
She took my hand, and we sat together, reading. When we reached Ophelia’s death, Tasneem, visibly saddened, said she felt as if Ophelia were her close friend: “Suzan, how does Hamlet live without Ophelia?” Tasneem, who hated injustice and loved life, was affected by Ophelia’s death every time she read the play, as if the play were real. She always blamed Shakespeare for the ending of his female character Ophelia, and even judged him as anti-feminist as a result. And now, I ask, “How will we manage to live without you, Tasneem?”
From the beginning of the aggression, Tasneem and I stayed in touch. We used Facebook posts to reassure each other that we were okay. As long as we had internet access, we had our friends. I would say in despair, “Tasneem, our lives are ruined because of the war. Our dreams are destroyed.” But she would reply with her usual optimism, “No, Suzan, we’ll come back, achieve our goals, and graduate.” Tasneem had the effect of a piano on those around her, bringing pleasure and calm to our moods. Whenever I shared with her my many complaints, the sadness in my heart or worry in my head simply melted away with the music of her personality. I miss that.

In November 2023, my family and I were forcibly displaced to the southern part of the Gaza Strip, to an area without internet. A few days later, I opened Facebook and found a post from Tasneem’s sister mourning her martyrdom. When I saw the news, my body shivered and my eyes and heart burst into tears. I found it difficult to catch my breath, as if I had lost a source of oxygen.
Memories of Tasneem filled my thoughts — her keen bright eyes, her magnetic smile, her gentle voice echoing in my ears as if she was still with us. I immediately reached out to her 23-year-old sister, Ayah, to ask what had happened. She said that on the night of her martyrdom, Tasneem had wanted to sleep. Ayah suggested staying up as usual, but Tasneem replied, “Stay up with Mama; I’m going to sleep. I want to sleep for a long time.”
She went to bed, and half an hour later, an Israeli strike targeted a house near theirs. A shell struck her room, tearing her body apart and breaking our hearts. That night, Tasneem went to sleep for the longest of times, just as she had said.
Tasneem should now have been standing on the graduation stage, holding her English literature degree in her hands, saying with quiet pride, “I made it, I did it.” Yet instead, this brutal occupation has taken our Ophelia forever.
Editor’s note: “Suzan” is a pseudonym. It is used because the writer wishes to keep her name offline for reasons of personal security.