Two years ago, on July 31, 2024, I was spending the evening with my two sisters in Gaza City’s Remal neighbourhood, shopping for new clothes. For the first time in months, I felt hopeful, speaking with confidence about the day the war would end and we would return to our home in Jabalia to rebuild it. As I reached for an item of clothing, the shopkeeper suddenly interrupted us. Looking at his phone with tears in his eyes, he said, “Ismail al-Ghoul has been targeted by Israeli aircraft.”

I froze and asked, “Are you sure?”

His voice trembled as he replied, “Yes, … they’ve killed him.”

I walked out of the shop in tears, repeating the same question to myself: Why? What had he done to deserve this?

I wasn’t grieving Ismail simply because he was a journalist reporting Gaza’s story to the world. I was grieving because I had known him personally. To me, he was a man who loved life and dreamed of the day he would finally be reunited with his wife and young daughter, Zina, after the war had separated them.

I first met Ismail while my family and I were sheltering at al-Shifa Hospital after being displaced. My father knew him and took me to see him, hoping Ismail might be able to help me charge my phone. It had been dead for more than three weeks because there was no electricity.

When we found him, he was standing in front of the camera, wearing his press vest and helmet........

© Al Jazeera