In a place where life is fragile and death is never far, my friend chose love – and survived what should have killed her.
A Different Kind Of Day
Some stories don’t just stay with you – they haunt you. They echo in your chest long after they’ve been told. This is one of those stories. It was shared with me by a friend I used to work with in Gaza. A few days ago, she lived through something that no one should ever have to endure. And yet, she told it to me with a quiet strength that broke my heart.
It was supposed to be a simple day. She had just finished work. But instead of heading home like she always did, she asked to be dropped off somewhere else. She had made a small, beautiful decision: to adopt a kitten from a friend.
A small act of love. A moment of softness in a world and place that rarely allows for it.
She waited for over an hour and a half. Then, with the kitten in her arms, she began to walk home. There were no cars. Just her, the cat, and the crowded streets of Gaza’s market area – alive with people trying to live whatever version of normal they could.
The Moment the Sky Broke
And then, the sky shattered.
An airstrike hit just few steps ahead of her. Five to eight steps. That’s all that separate her from death.
She told me the sound wasn’t just loud – it was otherworldly. It cracked the air open. The ground shook. The sky turned to dust. People screamed. Children wailed. Mothers ran from tents, barefoot and frantic, searching for their babies. Men shouted names into the chaos.
And she… she didn’t move.
She stood there, frozen. Not out of fear, but out of disbelief. The world had stopped. Everything was just dust and fire and noise. And in the middle of it all, she looked down – not at herself, but at the kitten. It was okay. Shaking, but okay. It buried its tiny head into her chest, trying to disappear.
She held it tighter.
Walking Toward The Smoke
While everyone else ran from the blast, she walked toward it.
Yes – toward it.
Toward the smoke. Toward the danger. Toward the place where people had just died. People screamed at her to stop to turn back. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Something inside her just kept moving.
Only when the ambulances arrived did she cross the road. She kept walking, as if nothing had happened. But everything had.
She told me to kept asking herself:
What if I had walked faster? What if I had reached that spot just seconds earlier? What if I had lost a limb? How would I live?
This wasn’t the first time she had survived something like this. But survival in Gaza doesn’t come with relief. It comes with guilt. With questions. With unbearable weight of knowing that next time, she might not be so lucky.
The Cost Of Survival
When she got home, she checked herself. No blood. No broken bones. Just dust on her clothes and a kitten still trembling in her arms.
But her mind was still there – in the smoke, in the screams, in the silence that followed.
She told me something I can’t stop thinking about:
“Here I can’t guarantee what will happen next. It’s scary and dangerous everywhere. I’d rather die in one piece than live with a part of me gone”
That’s the reality she lives with. That so many live with in Gaza. A reality where even adopting a kitten can become a life-or-death story. Where love has to survive the war.
Why I’m Telling You This
I’m telling you this because the world needs to hear it. Not as a headline. Not as a statistic. But as a human voice. A voice that chose kindness in the middle of chaos. A voice that kept walking when the world fell apart.
This is not just her story. This is Gaza’s story. A place where people survive the unimaginable every day – and still find room in their hearts for tenderness.
If you’ve read this far, I ask you: don’t look away. Share her story. Carry it with you. Let it remind you of the strength it takes just to live, to love, to walk through fire – and still hold something fragile close to your heart.
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