In the midst of this chaos, the taste of blood in my mouth serves as a cruel reminder of the horrors surrounding me. Tears blur my vision, and the deafening blast still echoes in my ears. With trembling hands, I reach out for anything to hold onto, desperately seeking both physical support and the comforting presence of my loved ones.

But they're not here. My heart aches for Baba, Mama, my entire family – anyone who can offer solace in this nightmare. The world is crumbling around me, and the yearning for their embrace, for their voices telling me that we will make it through, even if it's a desperate illusion, intensifies with each passing moment.

Amidst the chaos, voices rise -a scream of a mother clutching a dead baby, the shouts of people rushing forward to help- a cruel contrast to my solitary struggle. The absolute certainty that death looms overhead sweeps me off my feet. I collapse amidst the rubble, trembling, yet strangely numb. My heart, like a jagged stone, keeps me grounded, but it's a lonely anchor.

Death comes, but it does not yet embrace my soul. First, it snatches away my dreams of freedom, of having rights like anyone else in the world, of my cries being heard, of being seen and helped. Then, it snatches my soul from my body.

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