We arrived in Gaza.
But arrival did not feel like arrival.
It felt like impact.
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Nothing was shockingly different in a single detail.
But everything… felt different.
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The place was quiet.
Too quiet.
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A remote area.
Almost empty.
A few scattered buildings.
Simple structures, no higher than two floors.
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No crowds.
No noise.
No movement that felt alive.
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In Saudi Arabia,
the world had felt in motion.
Here…
it felt like time itself
had slowed down.
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Our home was simple.
Three rooms made of asbestos.
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In winter,
the cold seeped through everything.
In summer,
the heat was unbearable.
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There was no balance.
No comfort.
---
Only adaptation.
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Night…
was something else entirely.
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When the sun disappeared,
darkness didn't fade in slowly.
It fell.
Suddenly.
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Electricity was weak—
or gone entirely.
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Everything became still.
So still
you could hear your own thoughts.
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I would look around
and feel as if the world…
had shut down.
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Fear at night
has a different shape.
Not fear of something specific—
but fear of emptiness.
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Across from us…
there was a settlement.
---
It wasn't close.
But it was always there.
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Trees.
Sand dunes.
And lights…
that never went out.
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That was what felt strange.
---
Everything around us
fell into darkness…
except it.
---
It shone.
---
I would look at it
and feel something I couldn't explain.
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Fear?
Curiosity?
Or the quiet realization
that there was another world…
one that was not meant for us?
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Everyone knew its boundaries.
---
No one approached.
No one tried.
---
The fences
said everything.
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No one needed to explain.
---
I understood.
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Some places
are not yours.
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And some lines…
are never meant to be crossed.