I am Hind, a university graduate with a degree in physical therapy. I completed my studies, but I haven't found a job yet. My husband, Yasser, has been out of work for years. Despite everything, we managed to create warmth in our little home, where we live with our beloved son, Mohammed, who is two and a half years old. His laughter once filled our home with light and life.

We dreamed of small, beautiful things.

I dreamed of opening a physical therapy clinic, to help others and achieve my own fulfillment. Yasser wanted a little shop, a place where he could work with his hands, fixing things and earning a modest living. And Mohammed? He dreamed of his toy and a ball to chase outside in a safe world.

Then, the war came.

At the first, we heard the explosions from a distance. Then, they grew closer.

The sky changed, the air was filled with fear, and the sound of bombs became part of our daily life.

We didn’t lose our home, but it was no longer the same. It wasn’t safe anymore.

Our small home was filled with tension, with the constant dread of the unknown.

We were displaced, moving from one place to another.

We searched for safety in temporary shelters, where Mohammed slept in my arms on the cold ground. There were nights I cried silently so I wouldn’t scare him. We returned to our home when things calmed down, only to leave it again when danger struck. We were tired, displaced, and endured so much suffering. We weren’t living anymore; we were just trying to survive.

But despite it all… we haven’t broken.

Every time Mohammed looks at me with his wide, innocent eyes, I feel that life is worth holding onto.

And every time Yasser holds my hand, even in the darkest moments, I know that love is still alive in us.

Our dreams may be shattered. Our plans delayed. But we are still here, in our home, trying to rebuild what was broken within us.

Even if the sky falls upon us… we remain. We love, we dream, and we wait for the dawn of peace.