In the early morning darkness, Abeer Skaik prepared to find her 16-year-old son, Hassan. Each flyer carried a familiar smile, as if hoping a small act of defiance could bring him back from the void.

The trip south was fraught with hope and despair. Families stood in crowded silence, clutching photographs and ID cards against the cold. Ali’s search among the reunited was fruitless, returning to find Abeer standing silently, her world shattered by 10 months of absence.

Before the war, Hassan’s life revolved around routines, laughter, and love. But as bombs fell and scarcity gripped every aspect of daily life, so did confusion and despair. When he finally left home that fateful day, Abeer expected his usual return; instead, she faced an endless night of waiting.

The streets of Gaza, once familiar, now lay in ruins. Neighborhoods divided by checkpoints and constant bombardment, the map of Hassan’s routine no longer existed. As Abeer searched under every lightless streetlamp, it became clear that some disappearances are never answered.

In a world where bicycles can vanish into thin air, one wonders if memory or hope can keep us together when everything else falls apart.