In the heart of the temporary displacement camp at Al-Yarmouk Stadium, east of Gaza, six-year-old Imran Al-Soufi is living a story far heavier than his small body can carry.
All he wanted was to play outside his tent. But a single explosion changed everything. It took the sight of his left eye.
“I was playing with the girl next door… then I heard a huge explosion. I found myself thrown on the ground, and I couldn’t open my left eye,” he says in a trembling child’s voice.
Since that moment, life has changed for his mother, Samar. She is now raising him alone after losing her husband a year earlier while he was heading to Rafah in search of food aid and never returned.
She tries to soften what remains of his reality. When he comes back from playing upset because other children mock him, she holds him and tells him:
“You are special, my love.
Despite everything, she insists on enrolling him in a makeshift learning tent, even as his vision remains weak. She watches him struggle with letters and lines, encouraging him every step of the way.
“I just want to see him play normally… he always tells me he wants to play football, but I’m afraid he might fall and get hurt even more,” she says.
Their tent barely shields them from the cold nights and harsh days, and limited aid only covers the basics of survival.
Looking up at the sky, Samar says through pain:
“All I want is for his sight to come back… I don’t want anything else.”
Imran, meanwhile, holds on to a simple dream:
“To run and play with my friends again.”
In a war that spares no childhood, Imran’s story stands as another reminder of what has been taken in a single moment
