In one of the narrow alleys of a devastated Gazan city, a mother was running barefoot, clutching the hand of her little daughter who could barely keep up with her hurried steps.

Their breaths were short and sharp, dust filled the air, and smoke cloaked the sky. Yet one thing stood out vividly in that moment: fear carving through faces and weighing down souls, and two small hands clinging to each other as if separation meant certain death.

They ran without direction, stumbling over rubble and the remains of destroyed homes. Tears streamed down the girl’s face without a sound, as if she could no longer distinguish between fear and sorrow. The mother kept glancing behind her—not searching for shelter, but for life itself, for a safe space that no longer existed. Every few steps she whispered her daughter's name, urging her to keep going as the world crumbled around them.

There were no tales of heroism in that scene, no speeches of steadfastness—just raw survival. It was a mother’s instinct, fighting to pull her child from the jaws of death. Their appearance was heartbreaking: torn clothes, dust-covered faces, bleeding feet. But what hurt most was the look in the little girl’s eyes—a gaze no child should ever carry.

A Flight from Certain Death

At one point, the mother suddenly stopped, collapsed to her knees, and wrapped the girl in her arms with the last ounce of strength she had—like she was trying to shield her heart before the next strike. She said nothing, only gasped and held her tightly, while the walls around them cracked and groaned. Everything seemed to scream that the end was near, but that embrace spoke of something else: that love is the last thing to fall.

This scene, in its silence, destruction, and pain, breaks the heart without needing a single word. A mother fleeing with her daughter from certain death, not knowing where to go or when this nightmare might end. It's a scene Gaza sees every day, but it etches itself into the soul as if for the first time, every time. A small portrait of an endless suffering—and hearts that still beat, against all odds.