My heart remains in the ruins of Gaza City. I mourn the vibrant life of Al-Zawiya market, the scent of its spices, and the al-Omari mosque, where our collective prayers once felt like an unbreakable fortress. Ramadan used to mean true warmth to me. I experienced it at my family home in Gaza, in the Rimal neighborhood, where the table brought us together, filled with laughter and peace. Sometimes I would break my fast with my family, sometimes with friends or neighbours, as if the month were teaching us that the heart had room for everyone.