04.

I finished the routine, breathless. The old man clapped slowly, and escorted me out. I asked him, finding the question I had before. "Sayedi, what were they doing there?" I asked.

He looked inside. "Those people, they're form the army," he said. He looked me into the eyes and he explained that they might let me into the army, although still slightly prejudice about me.

I hugged him. I whispered thank you as tears ran down my face. There was hope.

February 13th, 1948

The army had agreed. It was finally over. I was assigned for defense force. I wasn't allowed to have a gun, but swords and knives were enough. Maybe later, when I had their trust, I would be able to use a gun.

Mother had been silent the last few days. She and Bilaal were busy at work and taking care of Janine and Emad. They were 6 now, but it felt like they were already 9. War ages people quickly. That was why Mother looked 40 even though she was 33. Bilaal was slowly recovering. He could walk now, although he limped. He couldn't walk around for too long though, so he would usually only go to the shops to buy grocery.

The day after Tomorrow would be the day I leave. Mother was now more reserved. Ever since Father died, she had been quiet. At night I remembered waking up to the sound of crying. I knew it was Mother. Sometimes, when I take anxious walks at night, I visit Father's grave.

The night before I left, I went around for another anxious night-walk. My destination was Father's grave. That night, when I arrived, I saw Mother. She sat near the grave, staring.

"Assalamualaikum, Mother?" I called out. She looked at me. In the pale moonlight, she looked even older, fragile, even.

"Haneen?" she asked.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" I asked, quickly walking to her side.

She looked down guiltily. "I-I felt l-lonely," Mother said, stuttering.

"Oh," I said. We sat by Father's grave, and for once, it was nice. It felt like Father was here, and even though we were in silence, it felt like we were spending time together.

We went home together.

The next morning, I was due at the Hebron; the army's headquarters at 11 P.M., where I would be sent to the Gaza, the main warzone.

I bid Janine and Emad goodbye, Bilaal too. On the breakfast table, we ate some delicious Mansaaf, although it was a bit bland.

Mother cried when I held her in my arms. Bilaal ruffled my head, as if I was 9 and he was 10.  He was a bit teary.

"I'm proud of you," Mother said.

"Assalamualaikum, Mother, Bilaal," I said, closing the gates behind me. I walked down the hill towards town.

"Wallaikum Salam," I heard their faint call.

i really apologize if anything seems wrong here, or that if anything is offending. I did not mean to offend anyone, and this story was written through the eyes of Palestinian through the 1947 civil war.