Last Sunday, I stepped out of my family’s tent in az-Zawayda, in the central Gaza Strip and headed to the nearby Twix Cafe, a coworking space for freelancers and students. Ten days had passed since the “ceasefire” was announced and I thought it must finally be safe for me to go out. Venturing out was supposed to be a step towards reclaiming a small part of my old life.

My brother and I were almost at the cafe when we heard a very familiar sound – the thunder of an explosion. An Israeli drone had hit the entrance of Twix Cafe.

I froze. I thought, this is it – it’s my turn. I won’t survive this war.

Three people were killed and several others were injured. Had my brother and I left my family’s tent a few minutes earlier, we, too, may have been among the casualties.

As the news spread, my

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