In the streets of Gaza, exhausted by bombardment and swallowed by dust, people poured out today, waving their hands toward the sky — as if bidding farewell to an age of terror and welcoming a fleeting breeze of peace. Faces weary from sleepless nights and fear began to smile again, if only for a moment, for the news of the ceasefire was like a lifeline slipping through the rubble. The children, who had grown more accustomed to the sound of explosions than to music, ran through the narrow alleys, waving flags and laughing as if unwilling to believe that calm had truly returned.

In Khan Yunis, Gaza City, and the north, joy ruled the scene — even though the scene itself was broken. Houses reduced to ruins, walls that once held the stories of families now gone — all stood as silent witnesses to the strange coexistence of life and death. The people’s joy did not erase the pain, but it rose above it. It was a joy carrying within it a deep sorrow — like dancing on a wound or smiling in the face of loss.

Among the ruins, women sat distributing sweets — not in celebration of victory, but in celebration of survival. One of them, her hand stained with dust, raised it and said: “We are not happy because the war has ended, but because we are still here.” Her words captured the essence of all Gazans — caught between destruction and hope, between an irreplaceable loss and a life wrested from the ashes.

The streets embrace joy. The young men, many of whom had lost loved ones and dreams, carried loudspeakers and played national songs. The music echoed off the shattered walls and came back with a new resonance — one that affirmed Gaza’s unbreakable spirit. Though time seemed to have stopped here long ago, those fleeting moments of happiness made people feel as if they had conquered fear, even if only for a while.

And so, in the heart of the rubble, amid an unmeasurable sorrow, an indescribable joy was born. A joy that blended tears with laughter, writing in the color of ash the story of a people who refuse to die. Gaza, as always, wept and smiled at once — telling the world again: We are still here, no matter how shattered the place, no matter how time disappears.