In 2023, after years of struggle, hunger, and loneliness, Daniel and Sia, two orphans who grew up together in an orphanage, finally tied the knot. Their love was quiet, strong, and patient—rooted in years of shared pain and little moments that held the world.
Life in Palestine was never easy, but with each other, they made it feel like home.
Daniel would often smile at Sia while holding her hand on the rooftop, whispering,
"I don't need paradise, Sia... your smile already feels like Jannah."
Sia would blush and reply,
"Then promise me... if Jannah exists, we'll find each other there too."
Their apartment was small, their meals simple, but laughter filled the rooms. They often spent evenings with friends, drinking tea, talking about dreams, about kids they wanted, a future they knew might never come—but dared to imagine anyway.
But in 2024, just before the war, whispers of destruction came. Fear crawled in through every window.
One day, Sia heard the news and rushed home, pale and breathless.
"Daniel... they're saying a war is coming. What will we do? Where will we go?"
Daniel took her into his arms, kissed her forehead gently.
"Shhh, my heart... don't be afraid. Nothing will happen to us. Allah is almighty. He will protect us."
But his arms were trembling too.
Days later, Daniel came running into their home, breath ragged.
"Sia—pack everything. The war is confirmed. We leave tomorrow."
Sia froze in shock. "What...? Where will we go?"
Daniel cupped her face, tears in his eyes.
"I don't know... but I won't let anything happen to you. I've made some arrangements. Just trust me. And pray."
They packed essentials—documents, food, ropes, jewelry, whatever they could carry.
That night, Sia cooked dinner, made breakfast for the next day in advance. They sat together, holding hands in silence. Sia laid her head on Daniel's shoulder.
"If tomorrow never comes... just know that you made all my yesterdays beautiful."
Daniel kissed her knuckles.
"Even if I'm born a thousand times... I'll choose you every time."
But that night, the sky broke open.
Sirens. Bombs. Screams.
Daniel grabbed the emergency bag, pulled Sia close, and they ran.
But before they could escape the building, an explosion shook the ground. Walls cracked. The building trembled.
Realizing it was about to collapse, Daniel shoved the bag into Sia's arms and pushed her outside with all his strength—
"RUN!"
Sia fell. Everything went black.
When she woke, voices were distant. Someone was screaming her name.
"Sia... Sia... wake up! Please—wake up!"
She opened her eyes.
Daniel was there, calling her—his body trapped under fallen debris. Blood seeped through his pants. A steel rod pierced through his leg.
"Thank Allah... you're okay," he whispered, a painful smile on his lips.
Sia rushed to him, crying.
"What happened? Daniel—what happened to you!?"
"I'm okay. I'm just stuck. Try to move this slab."
She tried. She pushed. Her hands bled. She screamed for help.
No one came.
Time passed. Hours slipped by like smoke.
Daniel began to feel cold. His sight blurred. He was losing blood fast.
"Sia... stop. I'm thirsty."
She helped him drink from the bottle in their bag, brushing hair from his face with trembling fingers.
"Don't close your eyes, please. Stay with me..."
"Sia... listen. In the bag, there's contact info for my friend. Find him. There's a refugee camp... go there. Leave the country..."
"No!" she cried, "Stop saying things like this! You're coming with me! Don't leave me, Daniel!"
"I... I'm losing feeling in my legs... it's okay... maybe... maybe this is Qadr."
She kept pushing. Kept shouting. Desperate.
Daniel gave a weak smile.
"If I don't make it... just promise me one thing..."
"Don't! Don't say it!"
"Promise me... you'll live. And... if I'm gone, you'll keep helping people. Stay in this land. Bury me here... and tell our story."
She finally found help.
"Please help! Please—my husband is trapped!"
A middle-aged man ran to her side, called for his family. They rushed with her.
"Daniel! Daniel, I brought help! You'll be okay now, just stay awake—please!"
But when she got there... his hands were cold.
His eyes didn't open.
The men looked down in silence.
"Daniel...? Daniel wake up... please... please don't leave me..."
She screamed, cried, shook him—hoping for movement, for breath. But he was gone.
The man gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Daughter... he's gone. May Allah grant him the highest place in Jannah."
She begged them to help bury him. She offered them money, jewelry.
But the man refused.
"I had a daughter like you... she died with her children in this same war. You called me father. So let me honor him, not as a stranger, but as your family."
They prepared the grave.
Sia bathed Daniel's body with her own hands, whispering prayers through tears.
"You once told me even dust from my fingers was gold to you... now I return you to the dust, my love."
She wrapped his shroud. She buried her heart that day.
On the road to the refugee camp, she heard crying.
A child, barely two, sat alone in the ruins.
"Where is your mother, sweetheart?"
The child pointed at rubble.
Sia's heart broke all over again.
She fed him, held him, and carried him to the camp.
"It's okay... I'll protect you now. Like Daniel protected me."
Months passed.
The war didn't stop.
Sia stayed at the refugee camp, volunteering, comforting, surviving.
She never removed the scarf Daniel gave her. His friend found her, begged her to leave the country.
But she refused.
"If I leave, I leave him. I want to live and die in the land where he rests. I want to be a martyr like him. Maybe then... we'll meet again at Heaven's gate."
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Then months.
Like rivers.
She no longer counted time—only bombs, dead children, and dreams buried too soon.
For Palestine
For every Sia.
For every Daniel.
For every child left crying in the rubble.
For every love story torn apart too soon.
May the world remember—Palestine is not just a place. It is a people. It is pain, and pride. It is resistance. And it is love.
Free Palestine.
May the martyrs be granted Jannat.
May the living find peace.
A Prayer for Palestine
May the world never forget that behind every rubble lies a story.
A love story. A child's laughter. A mother's lullaby. A prayer whispered in fear.
In Gaza, people do not just die—they leave behind legacies of resilience.
May Allah protect Palestine.
May the land one day breathe peace.
And may every martyr's soul rise with honor.
Because even under the rubble... love survives.