I was the only one awake. 

I sat under the plastic window, holding my phone up, begging for a single sign of Wi-Fi, but in vain. And I won’t lie. I was hungry. One meal a day was all I had.

So I closed my phone and turned to look at four beautiful yellow faces. My family.

My lovely mom curled around my two little brothers like she was protecting them, and my sister lay next to them. For a moment, I watched them and let myself believe we were safe.

Then my mother opened her eyes. When she saw me, she whispered, “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

She smiled softly and said, “I love you,” before going back to sleep.

That left me with a strange feeling. I felt warm. I felt safe. I felt….

Suddenly, the sound exploded before I even had the chance to understand it. I felt myself flying without moving. Then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, pain was striking through my body. Every breath felt sharp. I could barely move. Voices echoed around me. (Like they weren’t meant for me.)

A sad voice said  “Twenty-one-year-old female, unconscious, broken legs, fractured ribs, mild concussion. The only survivor of her family.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand.

Then my heart dropped.

“Are you talking about me?” I asked, panicking.

The only reply was, “Sorry.”

“No, no… that can’t be right. They can’t just leave. They promised we would survive together. No, please…”

I wanted to shout, to scream, but nothing came out. And then everything went black again.

When I woke again,I prayed it had all been a mistake, that this was just a nightmare. That I would turn and find them beside me like before.

It had to be wrong. They couldn’t be gone. I want my mom. Now. Please.

I called their names again and again, but no response.

Then a nurse came to me.

She looked at me carefully before she said softly “They’re not alone. One hundred and thirty-two people have been killed in the last twenty-four hours.”l am so sorry “

I stared at her, my voice shaking.

“Why us? Why me? I should have been with them. How could I live? I already miss my father… how could I lose them too?”

She said “I know. It hurts. And it doesn’t make sense none of this does. But right now, at least for them, you need to rest, Your body needs time to heal.” Then she left me.

For them?

But they’re gone.

I closed my eyes, praying — begging — just to save them. I let myself remember the warmth of my mother, her last words, her unreturned love. I wished I had the time to tell her that I loved her too, and that I always will.

I thought of my brothers and my sister.How could I live without them? How could I eat, laugh, study, or do anything without them?

And then I broke.

I cried like a baby, whispering their names over and over, imagining their faces till I was drowning in grief.

Days passed. Nurses came and went. I cried myself to sleep over them every night. And the world outside kept breaking — more destruction, more martyrs, more injuries, more loss.

And I reached a point where l knew that I will never stop missing them. I will never get used to their absence. A part of me will always stay with them, under that plastic window, beside their sleeping faces.

But l survived.

I’m still here for a reason. 

I will write.

I will tell their story to the world. They will live through my words, just as they live in my heart and memories.

Because their lives matter.

*************

Aya Arandas is a Palestinian writer who believes that stories can carry truth, memory, and lived experience.

Note: This project is supported by the British Council as part of the SARD programme, which focuses on the role of English and other languages in building resilience. SARD – Stories of Adversity, Resilience and Determination – encourages Palestinians, particularly young people, to share their stories and lived experiences through creative and educational media. The content of this production is solely the responsibility of Resilient Voices and does not necessarily reflect the views of the supporting or partnering institutions.