Update: (8 pm local Gaza time)

I dial their number and call, anxious but some how comforted by the cease-fire that is in its fourth day. Still, anxiety has creeped into my nerves. I am worried and remember Souad’s words, “what’s next?”

Asmaa answers, not with a hello, but with a voice that is commanding and full of affection.

“You didn’t call yesterday, my heart was sitting on fire waiting for you!” her voice is of a little lady. Growing day by day.

I feel my face flush and tears form in my eyes. I feel terrible. I remember that I ended up running some errands and realized it was too late to call. I’m sorry, habibti, I’m so sorry. I got a little busy and didn’t want to call you so late yesterday.

“It’s ok!” she says with a giggle. “I was just worried about you, I love hearing your voice and I am happy that you called,” she says.

I imagine her smile. I smile through some escaped tears and promise that I will call everyday and not miss another day again. How are you, habibti? I ask

“We’re good, the cease-fire is ending soon and people don’t know what to do, or what to expect,” she says.

Inshallah, everything will be fine and there will be an end to all of this. I say trying to reassure her. Her tone is positive and strong and I feel relaxed but I keep thinking that I will never miss her call again.

We talk for a few minutes more and our conversation has lost the focus on the Gaza massacre and the hardships and I revel in her laugh and stories about her little brother and sisters mischievousness.  And I want this type of conversation to last forever.

I tell Asmaa, I love her.

“And I love you, FOREVER,” she says with a higher pitch. Tears well up in my eyes again and I feel happy and I know by her voice she is happy and I think to myself that I will NEVER miss a call to them again.