Esraa, Malak, and Nour at Gaza’s beach on February 2, 2025. Photo: Esraa Abo Qamar

I never thought that in an instance life can turn upside down, but it did after October 7, 2023. My life changed forever. I lost family members, people I love, my university, and safety in life. But the thing that never changed was the friendship I made when I was only 12 years old.

I will never forget my first day at Al-Nuseirat Prep School D when I was in seventh grade. I felt so alone in the class because I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know I would meet the friends who would become my besties and the closest ones to my heart.

Malak AlHaj and Nour Abu Seif were sitting next to each other, talking and laughing. They were beautiful and looked friendly, funny, and smart. At the beginning, we were competing to see who would be the first to answer the teacher’s questions, each one trying to claim the top spot in class. But as time passed, we started chatting and we found that we had so many things in common. Day by day, our friendship strengthened and became the reason why I loved the school more and waited for the classes impatiently. We became inseparable.

The teachers used to call us the “Dynamic Trio” as we were always together, laughing and blabbing. Often they wouldn’t allow us to sit next to each other. During the break, we would take our falafel and hummus sandwiches, chips, and chocolates and sit under the cypress tree sharing our food and gossiping. We shared everything, from the study sessions that we used to have in my house and the stress of exams nights to the joy of seeing our names among the top students.

Every moment together turned into an adventure. I still remember the time when we skipped a class and went to play chess at the back of our school. We were punished of course by our teacher even though we enjoyed it. We still laugh about it when we remember it.

But like all stories, ours took a turn. School ended, and life pulled us in different directions. We chose different universities and built new routines. However, even distance didn’t stop us from meeting from time to time. Our favorite place was Kazem, where we would have chocolate and vanilla ice cream before strolling in Gaza’s streets. We would sit for hours gossiping over a meal, talking about classes, university stress, and our future plans. We would end the day shopping for mementos — keychains, tiny cute dolls, or even seashells to remind us of each time we met. We managed to have a way back to each other no matter how busy our lives were.

Then war entered our space and our lives changed forever.

The casual meetups we once took for granted became impossible. Our conversations, once filled with dreams and plans, turned into desperate, fragmented check-ins.

“Are you safe?”

“Are you still home?”

“Did you hear that bombing? Was it close?”

“Is your family okay?”

And then, silence. Days passed, then weeks, then months. The messages stopped coming, not because we forgot, but because there was no internet, no electricity, no signals, and finally, no words left to say.

The Dynamic Trio’s reunion

Four hundred seventy days passed, and finally the day arrived when a ceasefire was announced. The first thing that came to my mind after making sure that all my family and relatives were safe was Malak and Nour. I missed them so much. I had often thought about them, wondering if they and their families were safe. Did they have enough food? Are their homes good or have they been damaged?

My feelings were strange and mixed the first time we reconnected on our WhatsApp group to plan a meeting. My heart was beating rapidly. Over a year had passed since we last met. There were so many things going around in my head. Had the horrors of war changed our friendship?

All that time I didn’t know if we would stay alive to witness our reunion, but now it was finally happening. During the genocide, we all carried our own stories and our struggles, but we never had the chance to share them. We held onto them in silence, burying them deep in our hearts, unsure if we’d ever get to speak them out loud.

When I finally saw my two friends, my eyes filled with tears. I was excited and nervous at the same time. I hugged them tightly for a couple of minutes as if I was trying to make up all the time that I couldn’t when I needed to.

They had both lost lots of weight, and their faces looked pale and aged. I felt the spark of their eyes holding a mix of emotions — longing, happiness, and sorrow. How not, after all we had been through? But where do we begin? Should we express how much we longed to see each other all that time? Or should we recount the suffering that our faces couldn’t hide, talking about the long, cold nights we spent, or the hunger written on our faces?

Or the days we were displaced, scattered in different places, when I didn’t know where they were or what had happened to them for months?

Or should we talk about the year and more of study we lost, left in limbo as we waited for a fate we couldn’t control, unable to continue our education or move forward with our dreams?

We all carried wounds, both seen and unseen. Through it all, we had always needed each other — to listen, to heal, and to hold onto the pieces of who we used to be. But the war had robbed us of that chance. Now, we are here, together, finally.

We met at Gaza Beach, a place that had always listened to our dreams and witnessed our gatherings filled with love and life and laughter.

A cup of coffee from the beach reunion. Photo: Esraa Abo Qamar

Sharing our stories

Malak was the first to speak. Her voice was heavy with pain, but the hardest part of her story had to do with her education. She had always been ambitious, striving to excel in her studies and build a future for herself. She had been a student at the University College of Applied Sciences in Gaza, believing Gaza was the best place for her. But when the war destroyed her university — along with every other university in Gaza — her hope for a brighter future seemed to vanish.

Overwhelmed by the thought of losing her opportunity for education, Malak faced an emotional conflict. Should she leave Gaza behind? Search for scholarships? Or simply wait, holding on to a glimmer of hope? It wasn’t an easy choice. Malak began the arduous application process till finally she received a full scholarship to the American University in Cairo.

It revived her dreams and aspirations. But then, as if fate had other plans, the Rafah border remained closed. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as Malak waited helplessly, losing an entire academic year. Yet, even in that waiting, she held onto hope, knowing that she could start fresh in the next academic year, and pursue her dream of studying computer engineering.

Just when she thought things might improve, President Trump took office and terminated funding of USAID foreign assistance grants and awards, including Malak’s scholarship. In an instant, the dream she had clung to shattered before her eyes, leaving her feeling lost and adrift, stripped of her right to education.

As Nour and I listened to Malak’s suffering, we both felt sympathetic. It wasn’t just her pain. We had all lost our opportunity for education and the campus life we had once dreamed of.

But for Nour, this was a secondary concern compared to losing her home and her stable life. She had had to move into a tent, facing a life of humiliation and hardship. She missed sleeping in her own bed, studying at her desk, or even the simplest things, like leaning against a wall behind her.

Esraa, at her reunion with friends. Photo: Esraa Abo Qamar

After listening to Malak’s story, her voice trembling as she spoke, and seeing Nour’s tears, I was left speechless. I chose silence. We all shared the same pain, so I didn’t want to add any more weight to their burdens. I wanted somehow to bring some joy and relive the glory of the past. We will never forget the painful days, the onslaught, the fear, the hunger, the cold, or the loss of our loved ones but now, we needed to focus on the present and look ahead to the future.

We went down to the beach, took off our shoes, and felt the sand beneath our feet as we ran after each other. We took photos and videos, to create new memories and leave the past behind.

Though tears filled our eyes, they were tears of joy — small moments of happiness that we cherished, realizing that we had survived the worst of it, and in each other’s presence, we found solace. Our friendship had endured through it all, and now, we were free to hold onto the joy of this reunion — of being together once more.