Mohammed, a boy of twelve, ran along the narrow streets of Gaza, the sun warming the dust beneath his feet. The city hummed with life despite the heavy weight of challenges around him. Today, he carried a small notebook tucked under his arm—a treasure more precious to him than any toy or gadget.

In school, Mohammed loved to draw maps of places he had never been: green forests, sparkling rivers, and wide oceans. His teacher, Miss Lina, often told him, “One day, your maps will take you places your feet cannot yet reach.”

After classes, Mohammed walked past the market stalls, where the scent of fresh bread mingled with the sound of vendors shouting their prices. He paused by a small stand where an old man sold kites. Mohammed’s eyes sparkled as he pointed to a bright blue kite. The man smiled and said, “This one will touch the sky if you let it.” Mohammed clutched it to his chest.

That evening, he ran to the rooftop of his building. Gaza’s skyline was jagged but beautiful in the fading light. He tied the kite string to his wrist and released it. The wind lifted the kite higher and higher, fluttering against the orange sky. For a moment, Mohammed felt like he was flying too—above the walls, above the streets, above all the worries.