The night was quiet, save for the sound of turning pages and the gentle scratch of my pencil on the paper. It was 3 a.m., and I was studying for my last exam “Database” — a daunting task, as I had more than half the curriculum left to cover. I was sleepy, as anyone would be at that time of the night, but I knew I had to stay awake and focused if I wanted to do well.

Suddenly, a sound shattered the silence. A bomb had gone off nearby. But I didn’t move from my desk; we were used to the sounds of bombs at night, or so I thought. Despite the chaos outside, I was determined to stay focused on my studies. I tried to drown out the sounds of the bombs with the scratch of my pencil on the paper, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Each time a bomb went off, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change, becoming more tense and electric.

Another couple of strikes, and I found myself unable to concentrate any longer. I cautiously peeked through the grate on my square window, only to witness the sky turn a fiery, reddish-orange hue. Seconds later, the sound of bombing followed, echoing through the room and making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

Without hesitation, I reached out for my phone and captured the chaos in a video.

Panic stricken, I turned to the news, only to learn that 10 innocent lives had been claimed in the bombing. I was horrified, my mind filled with questions and doubtsAs my phone buzzed with notifications from my batch exam group, bidding farewell to the martyrs and sharing heartbreaking images of the aftermath, I realized how deeply this tragedy had affected us all. We were lost, angry, and scared, unsure of what the tomorrow held.

And then, the news broke that women and children were among the martyrs. The reality of the situation became unbearable.

I went to check on my parents, trying to get my mind off the what happened. We talked about the cruelty of the act; the injustice of innocent lives being taken in their sleep. The sound of drones outside my window was incessant, and it only added to the headache I was already experiencing. As the night wore on, I found myself torn between the urgency to study and the overwhelming sadness of the situation.

4:30 a.m. After praying Fajer, I tried to sleep, but my mind was racing. I couldn’t rest until I knew the fate of the exams. When the announcement finally came, it was hard to accept that the exams were postponed. While part of me was relieved, the other part was consumed by guilt. How could I even think about exams when people were dying, when families were being torn apart?

As the reality of the situation set in, I began to realize how living under such constant aggression had warped my sense of normalcy. Was it really okay to hear bombs and missiles most nights? As I mourned the loss of those who had become martyrs, the exam and its postponement faded into insignificance. I could only hope to wake up tomorrow, alive and well.