Shifting Sand Grains

On the shores of Gaza, where the waves kissed the sand and retreated like unspoken promises, Leila sat watching the sea. Once, she had been a carefree young woman, dreaming of poetry and music. Now, the echoes of war and loss had reshaped her into someone she barely recognized.

Beside her sat her childhood friend, Yusuf, who had returned after years of studying abroad. He studied her face, once full of laughter, now shadowed with quiet strength. “You’ve changed, Leila,” he murmured. “You’re not the same person I left behind.”

Leila smiled faintly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “And you, Yusuf? Are you the same?”

Yusuf hesitated before shaking his head. “No. I thought I would come back to the same people, the same streets, but everything feels different. Even you…”

Leila scooped up a handful of sand, letting it slip through her fingers. As poet Mahmoud Darwish once said “You won’t find the same person twice, Not even in the same person." War, love, time—everything changes us. The Leila you remember is gone. And tomorrow, even I won’t be the Leila I am today.”

Yusuf followed her gaze toward the setting sun, its fiery glow mirrored in the restless waves. He finally understood. In Gaza, as in life, nothing remained unchanged—not the land, not the people, not even oneself.