**I used to think I wouldn’t marry until my thirties—maybe later. I imagined building a career, traveling, living life before settling down. But since the war began, everything inside my head has shifted.

Now, airstrikes wake me up every night. I live by the sea, and the helicopters always come from that direction. Each time I hear the engines, I wonder: “What if this one is for me?” And if it is—what will that feel like?

A few months back, my uncle’s entire family was killed while sheltering in a school. Even the baby. People say when something like that happens, you feel nothing. If it happens to me, I pray for that numbness. But often, people are not killed instantly. They are trapped under rubble for long, terrifying hours. That thought haunts me more than anything.

For the first time in my life, I feel the need for someone beside me. Someone who can whisper, “It will be all right,” even when it clearly isn’t. Four months

 ago, I got engaged. Her name is Lama. She is the sister of my best friend, Kareem, who was killed in a bombing last year. His absence binds us together as much as his memory.

Today, I drove to her house. I wore jeans, I smelled good, I even caught myself smiling. And then the thought crept in: “Should I even be happy now, when everything around me is so awful?” But the truth is—we are happy. In fact, it feels more intense than love in normal times. It is love sharpened by fear, deepened by urgency, made sacred by its fragility.

When the strikes wake me, I send her gentle messages: “I hope you’re okay.” These little words once seemed trivial, but now they mean everything. They are not only words of care—they are check-ins to see if the person you love is still alive.

I visit her two or three times a week. Sometimes we only have five minutes together. But those minutes matter more than hours in peaceful times. If she is grieving her brother, or trembling from the roar of missiles, I hold her close. My arms cannot stop bombs or bullets, but they can give a sense of safety. And in this world, safety is everything.

Knowing we’re together changes something inside me. If something happens to me, it will happen to her too. If death comes, it will not separate us. In a strange way, that brings peace.

We will either live together, or die together. And that certainty, fragile as it is, makes me feel safe.”**