A Day in the Life: Through the Eyes of a Child in War

 Before the Sky Fell

My name is Sami, and I’m 10 years old. I lived in a small yellow house with green shutters, right by a big fig tree that smelled sweet in the spring. Every morning, the sun would shine through my window, and I could hear birds chirping and neighbors chatting as Mama cooked eggs and fresh flatbread for breakfast. I would race my little sister to the kitchen table, giggling as we tried to be the first to grab the warm bread. At school, my favorite subject was art because I loved to draw rockets and planets, imagining one day I might fly to the stars. My best friend Yara and I shared candies and secrets during recess, and sometimes we played soccer in the dusty yard. My teacher, Mr. Karim, had a funny laugh and always encouraged us to dream big. Life was noisy and messy and full of laughter, like the endless summer days I wished could last forever. But that week, something felt different—the sky was quieter, and the air felt heavy. I noticed Mama hugging us tighter than usual that night, and I wondered why, but I was too young to understand what was coming.