Gaza Conversation - Part 5
My beloved asked me to stay and not travel. I cancelled my plans. Two weeks later, the war began. Sadly, I lost my future; and I lost her. I don’t know if I’ll survive or ever be able to continue.
These are a series of conversations I have had with people in Gaza, which form part of the book I am writing. Part 5 is based on conversations with Muhamad Abu Zuheir, 21, who is currently displaced in Al Mawasi, Khan Younis, Gaza. Muhamad lives with 10 family members in a tent on the beach, including his parents, his younger sister, 7, and his brother, 5.
Muhamad reached out through my social media accounts, leaving comments on a few posts I had shared that day about the genocide unfolding. Before the war, he was in his final year of studying digital media development and design at Gaza University. He had been accepted to pursue postgraduate studies in Turkey, with a promising future. However, his plans were tragically disrupted by the war. Our conversations began on December 30, 2024, and since then, I’ve come to know him as a highly educated and ambitious young man.
His story begins on October 13, 2023, with Israel's first mass evacuation orders. His life would never be the same again. Since then, he and his family have been displaced 8 times.
I asked him to share with me his story as an introduction, and he shared this:
Loss and War - Dec. 31, 2024
From the first day of the war, I was very scared for my family, myself, and my friends. On the third day, our neighbours were bombed, and more than 80 people were martyred as a result. My brother Ahmed was injured in the head, resulting in a skull fracture. We fled our house and went to my grandfather’s house, where we stayed for about three days.
On Friday, October 13, 2023, the army called us, instructing us to evacuate my grandfather’s house and move south. I left with my family to the south.
We faced many hardships; the hardest thing was adapting to living in a tent or being far from our home. We left with nothing, and that was the most difficult thing we faced. Days passed as we kept fleeing death, moving from one place to another.
On November 17, 2023, I received the devastating news that broke me—I lost my beloved. She had stayed in the north and couldn’t leave. On November 15, she sent me a message telling me the communication would soon be cut, and we wouldn’t be able to check on each other.
That was the hardest day of my life. Since then, honestly, I’ve lost interest in life. I am disconnected, unable to focus on what’s happening around me, and struggling to accept what happened.
Now, over a year later, I’m still unable to move on. Every day we suffer from the cold in the winter and the heat in the summer. Living in a tent is incredibly difficult, and we cannot adapt.
There are so many things I can’t describe to you—how much we suffer, how tired and scared we are. But we try to stay strong and take care of each other.
Before the war, I was planning to migrate. But my beloved asked me to stay and not leave. She told me to study here because she couldn’t bear the thought of me being in one country and her in another. So, I cancelled my travel plans.
Two weeks later, the war began. Sadly, I lost my future, I lost her and I don’t know if I’ll survive or if I’ll ever be able to continue.
One evening, as we were exchanging messages on WhatsApp, I asked him how he was, and he replied: “Cold, so very cold. But I am not complaining. I have everything to be grateful for, alhamdulillah. I and all of my family members are alive, and none of us is injured.” In recent months, the weather in Gaza has grown bitterly cold, posing a significant challenge for those living in poorly insulated make-shift tents along the beach.
According to the Washington Post, on January 6, Gaza faced a severe shortage of winter shelters due to Israeli authorities blocking trucks carrying vital winter supplies. As a result, the bitter cold has taken a tragic toll, with at least seven infants dying from hypothermia in the past month, some passing away in their sleep.
The bitterness of the cold is not the only problem faced by Mohammed and his family, the relentless bombing of people in tents by IDF has also recently intensified in the Al Mawasi and Kha Younis area - which is technically designated as humanitarian ‘safe’ zones. But as everyone knows by now, nowhere is Safe in Gaza.
The following day, the last of 2024, I sent a message to check if he had made it through the night—a habit I’ve adopted when staying in touch with people inside Gaza, where nights have become increasingly terrifying and often fatal. I asked what he’d like to talk about, and he replied, “If you don’t mind, I’d still like to tell you about my love.” When I asked her name, he said, “Mona.”
Acknowledging the pain of the subject, I gently asked if he could share the story of how he met her. He replied, “Yes, I would. She’s all I think about. I talk to her in my head all the time. I write her letters.” Later that evening, he sent me this:
Enduring Love, Silent Tears - 31st of Dec 2024
Mona lived close to my house, about half a kilometre away. I used to see her all the time when we were kids—I knew her and recognized her face, but that was all I knew about her. I noticed her in January 2021 with her mother and sister, may they rest in peace. I was out, and she didn’t see me, but I felt myself starting to like her.
One of my neighbours knew her, so I started asking her about Mona, wanting to get to know her. One day, Mona sent me a message. We couldn’t talk face-to-face because customs here in Gaza don’t allow it, as you know.
At the time, I was in my final year of high school. We talked, got to know each other better, and became friends. Honestly, I wanted to be with her—I liked her. Our relationship started on April 10, 2021. We talked every day until my high school exams started. She cared a lot about me, always asking about my studies and checking on me because I was stressed and anxious about my studies. I told her that I had something important to say to her after I finished my exams.
But I couldn’t wait—I confessed my feelings to her on June 29, 2023. I told her that I loved her, that I wanted her to always be with me, and that I hoped God would bring us together in the future. I wasn’t afraid of her rejecting me because our bond was strong, and it was clear that she felt the same way about me.
That’s when our relationship began. I loved her so much—more than I ever thought I could love someone.
Mona was an outstanding student at the Azhar Institute, top of her age group, and she had memorized the entire Quran. During exams, she sometimes sent me pictures of her books, asking me to explain things to her. I wasn’t an expert, but I never let her down—it felt like we were studying together.
On Friday, October 6, 2023, she messaged me saying she was struggling to focus on her studies, with lessons piling up, and that she had an exam on Sunday. I did something simple to help her, but it made her feel supported like I was by her side. She cared deeply about her studies, and always worried about maintaining her excellent grades because a top student like her couldn’t afford anything less.
She was with me every day, every moment. She loved me, and I loved her. Despite our young age, we were committed and protective of our love and relationship.
I always wished I could see her, sit with her, and talk to her for hours. But as I mentioned, our customs and faith didn’t allow it, so I could only see her from a distance. Every time I saw her, it made me so happy. I saw myself in her. Everyone in my family knew about her and our relationship.
At the start of the war, when I went south, and she stayed in the north, I prayed for her and talked to her every day. She was scared, and I had a feeling something bad would happen, but I never imagined I would lose her, and not like this.
I miss her so much. I see her in my dreams. I pray to God that this war doesn’t end without me also being ‘taken’ so that I can see her again in paradise.
There are so many details I can’t share—not because they’re private, but because I’m still hurting and haven’t gotten used to her absence.
On the 12th day of the war, the army called her family and told them to leave their home. The army called them and told them to leave their home. She messaged me, saying they were going to take shelter with relatives who were essentially our neighbours.
At the time, I wasn’t home—I was at my grandfather’s house. They left their home. After about three weeks, there was heavy shelling near their relatives’ place, so they went back to the house the army had warned them to leave. They returned home along with the people who had been sheltering with them.
She messaged me, saying they had returned home. I was terrified and told her they couldn’t stay there because the army had warned them to leave. She said they were exhausted and couldn’t handle moving again—they just wanted to stay in their own home.
I told her to take care of herself. She told me that day that the signal might be cut off. I told her to message me as soon as the signal came back to let me know they were okay.
She sent me a message saying, “I miss you, and I hope you haven’t gotten used to being without me just because we haven’t been talking as much as before.” At that time, there was no internet, no signal, nothing. She said she would miss me very much, then the signal was gone.
I replied, but her signal had already disconnected, and she didn’t respond. The next day, I sent her more messages, but she didn’t reply. Two days later, I received the news that she and her entire family had been martyred, under the rubble of their home. I couldn’t believe it. I was devastated. I started wandering the streets like a madman, completely disoriented. I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. I felt like I was stuck in a nightmare.
What broke my heart even more was that they weren’t buried immediately. They were trapped under the rubble, and there were no tools or bulldozers to retrieve them. Her father survived because he wasn’t home at the time. After about nine months, they were finally able to retrieve Mona and her brother Omar, who was my university friend.
Mona’s body had decomposed, but her father recognized her by her clothes and hair. Omar’s body was also decomposed, but his father identified him through his dental braces.
I miss her so much and pray for her every day. She’s always on my mind—not a single moment passes without thinking of her. I try to do good deeds in her memory.
I know this is all part of God’s plan, but the longing and the separation are unbearable. It’s incredibly hard to lose someone you had envisioned your entire life with, someone you trusted, loved, and who loved you back.
Mona, I miss you so much. I pray that God reunites us in paradise. I’m willing to give up the whole world to be with you there. I’ll never forget you or move on without you. I’ll keep loving you even if I get married and have children with someone else.
You’ll always be a part of my life, present in my prayers and my thoughts, until the day we meet again, God willing.
I had to remind myself that this brutal war hasn’t only destroyed the material aspects of life—it has also shattered people’s dreams, stories, hopes, and, most profoundly, their capacity for love.
On the 9th of Jan, the BBC reported the killing of 19 (eight of which were children) people in the area of Al Mawsi and Khan Younis - right in the middle of the so-called Humantrian ‘Safe zone’. Later on that day, someone posted a shocking statistic on social media that said, 74 children had been killed by Israel since the beginning of 2025. That’s more than 10 children a day!
The IDF deliberately targets children, aiming to extinguish their potential, their dreams, and their future love for their country and love for one another. It devastates not only the lives of the present but also the futures that might have been—indiscriminately and blatantly, in full view of the world.
These are not just numbers; they are people—a people under attack, targeted, and systematically exterminated. Their existence is being erased, both materially and psychologically, all at once. The loss of life and, with it, the loss of Love. Love a fundamental and universal part of the human experience, is also being crushed in the wake of this war and its devastation.
I think of Muhamad, losing all hope after losing his beloved. I think of Muhamad still holding on to his love and writing her letters despite the death and destruction that he has to deal with daily. And I can’t help but think, ultimately, love in war is an act of defiance. Even though she is physically gone, for him, he refuses to let her go, because Love is hope.
It refuses to let violence and despair have the final word. It keeps alive the possibility of a better future, one built on connection, understanding, and the unyielding belief in the value of every human life. In war, love is not just a comfort—it is a necessity, a reminder of our shared humanity, and a testament to the enduring power of hope.
May Muhamad hold on to his lost Love, and may he, and the countless others like him, never give up love, and may they never give up hope.