Scene: A dark, cramped shelter beneath a collapsed building in Gaza. The walls are cracked, dust fills the air, and a dim battery-powered lantern flickers. Around 14 people sit close, some huddled under blankets, others silently weeping.
[A mother sits in the corner with her 9-year-old son, Omar, whose stomach growls.]
Omar (weakly): Mama... I'm hungry... I'm so hungry... can we go out and find food?
Mother (whispering, tears running down her cheeks): Ya habibi... please wait a little longer. Allah will send us food. Just wait, sweetheart... just wait.
Omar (voice shaking): But Mama... are we sinners? Is Allah angry at us? Is that why we have no food... and they keep bombing us? Are we... going to hell?
[The room falls silent. A teenage boy, Zayd, 18, suddenly rises from his place near the wall. He has a rugged face, eyes hollow with exhaustion but filled with fire.]
Zayd (sharply): What did you say, Omar?! You think we're going to hell? You think we're sinners?!
[Omar flinches. The mother hugs him tighter.]
Zayd (kneeling before the boy): Listen to me, little brother. We are not being punished. We are not sinners. We... we are the brave. We are the ones Allah chose to test. And when we die, we die as martyrs. You know what that means?
Omar (sniffling): ...No.
Zayd (smiling through tears): It means... we're soldiers. Not with guns. Not with tanks. But with our hearts. We are soldiers of truth. Martyrs of faith. We're living in people's prayers... in their hearts.
[He pulls out his cracked phone and starts scrolling quickly. A glimmer of pride lights his face.]
Zayd: Look! Look here.
[He shows Omar videos of protests around the world. People chanting, holding signs, waving Palestinian flags.]
Zayd (voice rising): See this? So many countries — America! France! Bangladesh! Iceland! England! Spain! Australia! Even people in Israel are protesting against their government... for US. Do you hear what they're chanting?
[He turns up the volume. Chanting echoes from the speaker: "Free, free Palestine! Free, free Palestine!"]
Zayd: They even made songs for us. They are praying for us. Do you see this flag? Do you see how it's flying in every corner of the world?! Did you ever hear of any other flag flying like this? We are not forgotten. WE ARE LOVED.
[The others in the shelter lean closer. Someone gasps. A girl, barely 14, begins to sob quietly in awe. An old man wipes tears from his eyes.]
Old Woman: Ya Allah... they're marching for us... for my dead son... for my daughter who was buried in the rubble two days ago.
Zayd (passionately): They're chanting for YOU. For US. Our pain is in their hearts. We are not cursed. We are blessed! Our blood waters the tree of freedom. Our names are etched into history.
[Omar's eyes begin to glow with new light. He looks again at the phone, mesmerized.]
Omar (softly): But Zayd... if we're Allah's favorites... why are we so hungry? Why are we always crying?
Zayd (laughing gently): Ya zalameh! Don't you remember the story of Nabi Adam (a.s.) and Hawa (a.s.)?
Omar (confused): The one with the fruit, the first Nabi and his wife?
Zayd: Yes! They ate from the tree and were sent to Earth. Because they tasted the earthly fruits, they had to leave Jannah. So if we want to return to Jannah, we too must let go of earthly comforts — even food. This hunger? This pain? These are not punishments. They are our purification. The world's tears? They are duas — prayers for us.
[The mother weeps harder, but no longer in despair. The child rests his head against the wall, staring up at the broken ceiling.]
Omar (almost whispering): And... what about the bombs?
Zayd (smiling sadly): They are fireworks, habibi. Celebrations. To announce to the skies that another soul is returning home... to Jannah. Each boom is a drumbeat for a martyr's entry into Heaven.
[Murmurs of "Allahu Akbar" spread in the room. Hope flickers. A teenage girl grabs the phone and plays more videos. They watch candlelight vigils in South Africa. Silent protests in Japan. A mural of a Palestinian child painted in Brazil.]
Old Man (tears in his eyes): For seventy-five years, we carried this pain. But never like now... never have we been so seen.
Zayd (to all): This shelter... this hell... it will pass. But our names will remain. The world sees. Allah sees.
[Suddenly, a rumble shakes the ground. Dust falls from the ceiling. A new airstrike lands nearby. The walls tremble. Children scream, but this time, something's different.]
Old Man (standing with a cane): Allahu Akbar!
All (together, shouting): Allahu Akbar!
[More bombs. Louder. Closer. But their voices rise higher than the fear. Even the children join, shouting, crying, smiling through their tears.]
Zayd (lifting Omar into his arms): Remember this, little lion. We don't die. We ascend.
[The ground roars. A direct hit. The shelter shakes. A final flash of light. And silence. But the last sound before it fades is one phrase, echoing through dust and fire:]
All (in unison): Allahu Akbar!
[Fade to black. End.]