Fatima, a little Palestinian girl from Gaza, woke up before sunrise, her stomach empty for the third day. She held her mother's hand tightly as they walked through destroyed streets toward a food distribution point. The air smelled of smoke and dust, but hope pushed them forward — maybe today, they would get a meal. When they arrived, hundreds of people were already waiting, their faces pale from hunger. The noise of crying children mixed with the distant sound of drones. Fatima clutched a small plastic bowl, her only treasure, and waited quietly in line. Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the ground. People screamed and ran in all directions. Fatima fell, the bowl slipping from her hands and breaking on the ground. Her mother shouted her name, trying to reach her through the chaos. In the rush and fear, Fatima could barely breathe — dust filled her lungs and tears blurred her vision. A stranger grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a wall just as another blast hit nearby. When the smoke cleared, she found her mother, trembling but alive. They didn't get any food that day. But as the sun set over the ruins, Fatima whispered, "At least we're still together." Her mother hugged her tightly, knowing that surviving another day in Gaza had become their only victory.
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