In the heart of the besieged enclave, hunger creeps into the tents before it even knocks on the door — a hunger that only bread can silence, and bread that can only be made with flour that has become a journey of torment to obtain. The pale faces of children tell what words cannot, and the worry-filled eyes of mothers narrate the stories of long nights without enough to eat, where a family shares what remains of a single piece of bread.

Men and women set out at dawn, walking long distances under a scorching sun in search of a sack of flour they may never find in the end. The distances they travel and the dangers they face are not just meters and kilometers, but hours of waiting mixed with the fear of shelling, and the anxiety of returning home empty-handed.

Empty stomachs, scorching heat The road to flour is no longer just a path to life, but a test of strength and patience. Long queues snake in front of distribution centers, where the cries of children blend with the sobs of mothers, and the shuffling steps of the elderly intertwine despite their pain. With every passing minute, the sun’s heat grows harsher, and hunger weighs heavier on empty stomachs.

Bread is a matter of survival The relentless bombardment turns this journey into a struggle with death. At any moment, the waiting lines could become a scene of bloodshed. Yet people insist on staying, because for them, bread is not a luxury — it is a matter of survival. And every time they hear the thud of a nearby explosion, their hearts race, but their feet stay planted; going home without flour means another night of hunger.

By the end of the day, some return carrying sacks of flour, while others come back with disappointment and tearful eyes. Still, everyone keeps trying, because the hope for a piece of bread is stronger than fear, and hunger does not wait. It is a daily battle, fought with bare hands and weary hearts, against siege, hunger, and shelling — with only the dream of a life less cruel keeping them going.