"In Palestine, tears never really dry — they turn into fire that exposes the killer."
The days after Bahaa's death were heavy — as if time itself had frozen at the moment he fell.
In the courtyard, Dalal and Nadia sat pressed close together, each drawing strength from the other. Their eyes were swollen from crying, yet their words carried an unexpected firmness.
Nadia wiped her tears and whispered:
"Every day, someone becomes a martyr… We're not the first to lose someone. Palestine demands sacrifices — maybe God chose Bahaa for that."
Dalal's voice was hoarse, her hands trembling slightly.
"Bahaa dreamed of living… but when he died, he became bigger than his dream. He became a symbol — for everyone who will come after him."
They embraced tightly. Grief wrapped around them, but it couldn't smother their belief that the blood spilled that day would not be wasted.
Meanwhile, the town — and the world — began to move. Local and international media picked up the story. The footage of Bahaa's fall, captured on a shaky camera, spread fast. The question echoed everywhere: Who fired the bullet?
The name appeared soon after — Billy Mark. An American-Israeli soldier stationed in Bethlehem. News reports said he was the one who pulled the trigger.
Days later, his image was broadcast across TV screens: hands cuffed, sitting behind a glass wall in a military courtroom. His face was cold, detached — as if none of it mattered. Headlines read: "The Soldier Who Killed an Unarmed Young Man."
But everyone in Bethlehem knew the truth — it was all a performance. A show for the cameras.
Short sessions. Shallow questions. Judges nodding with pretense. And then, the verdict:
"Acquitted — due to lack of evidence."
Dalal returned home with the newspaper in hand. She read the headline once, then tore the paper to shreds.
"A trial?" she cried. "This isn't a trial — it's a play to cover their crime!"
Nadia grasped her hand gently.
"Even if they freed him, we know the truth. The whole world saw the footage. Maybe he'll escape on paper — but he won't escape Bahaa's curse, or our memory."
At that moment, Dalal realized the loss was no longer just personal. It was no longer about Bahaa alone — it was about a story, a whole narrative, that the occupation was trying to write over their own.