The Markaz Review:

Husam Maarouf

In Gaza, where life is measured not by days, but by the number of airstrikes and the roar of warplanes; where lovers walk beneath a sky littered with fiery shrapnel and scattered steel; there is no true refuge from death. There is no box to lock themselves inside to stay safe. And yet, amidst the destruction, love somehow finds a way to flourish. Hearts still beat for one another, clinging to the fragile hope of preserving beauty on this scarred land. Out of this devastation came something close to a miracle — the story of Tamer and Sabreen.

When Sabreen opened her eyes after the anesthesia wore off, she didn’t yet know that her life had split into two parts: before the bombing and after. Her leg was gone. Her body was no longer whole. But reality had not yet fully settled in her mind. She didn’t see the white hospital ceiling, hear the bustle of nurses, or smell the medicine. She could see only one thing: Tamer’s eyes. He had promised her that their love would last as long as the world turned.

“The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Tamer beside me,” Sabreen recalls. “He was afraid for me, but he tried to reassure me. His eyes were full of love and strength. I felt I wasn’t alone. I knew he would stay, no matter what.”

She stared at his face, not to confirm his reality, but to rekindle her memories of hope and joy. Her gaze clung to his face like a lifeline to existence itself; she didn’t want to lose it.

Tamer, for his part, carried another burden: to convince her that love, not a leg, could uphold the body.

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