A lot of noise – missiles and explosions, the sound of drones, screaming and wailing, cries of “martyr, martyr.” Breaking glass, slamming doors, collapsing buildings, blazing fires, thunder, lightning, wind, death gasps, darkness, and ash. All of them are still in my head.

I left Gaza almost a year ago, but these images and sounds still haunt me. I had left everything behind – my home, my friends, my extended family – but I could not get rid of the echoes of the war.

Here, in Cairo, I am reliving the shock of what I saw, heard and felt during the first four months of the war in Gaza.

When I hear the sound of a plane in the sky, my heart races in fear, and I think it is a warplane. When I hear fireworks, I panic and imagine them as bomb explosions.

I thought exile would bring safety and peace, but it turned out to be an extension of war.

The death and destruction occurring in Gaza continues to dominate our lives. The sadness, pain and struggle for survival that we thought we had left behind still haunts us.

We do not live in a rain-soaked tent or go hungry; The sound of bombs is not real, it is just echoes of memories in our minds. But we still live in misery.

My father, the breadwinner of our family, was unable to find work for several months. When he did, he was paid a small salary. We are facing mounting debt and cannot afford basic necessities.

Meanwhile, we remain completely immersed in the horror taking place in Gaza. Bombings, mass killings, suffering in tattered tents – they stream to us on messaging apps hour by hour.

All my Palestinian friends here seem to be in the same situation – in pain and despair, trapped by war.

My friend Doaa recently said to me: “I wish I could die with them instead of living.” Her family sent her to Cairo shortly after the genocide began to complete her studies in peace. “I had a feeling that I would never see them again when I said goodbye,” she said, crying.

A few days after her arrival in Egypt, believing that life had given her a better opportunity to study abroad, she tried to contact her family to check on them, but she did not receive any response. Anxiety gripped her until she received the tragic news of their martyrdom.

The pain was unbearable and she failed her studies. To this day, she struggles to pay her rent for her apartment and told me her landlord would soon evict her because she didn’t pay. She is an orphan, alone in exile, and may soon be homeless, too.

Another friend, Rawan, had been studying in Egypt for a few years before the war started, and dreamed of a bright future. On October 10, 2023, a massive explosion destroyed her home, killing her entire family. All that remained were her mother, who miraculously survived despite her serious injuries, and her married sister, who lived in another house.

Rawan told me that she misses her father’s encouraging messages, the support of her brothers Muhammad and Mahmoud, and the innocent laugh of her sister Ruba. She never completed her education. She has become a shadow of herself.

Nada, another friend, is in Cairo with her sister. The girls had to leave their parents and brother in Gaza, because their names were not included in the list of people allowed to pass through the Rafah crossing.

In Cairo, Nada felt lost, alienated, and afraid. She tried again to submit a travel request for her parents and brother, but the occupation stormed Rafah and closed the crossing. She told me at the time that she felt like all the doors of life were closed in her face.

Nada and her sister live alone, without support from relatives, and are struggling. Stress and sadness have taken their toll. Nada has lost a lot of weight, and now says she looks like a skeleton.

She told me that the harassment and fear of kidnapping made them reluctant to leave the apartment where they lived.

“We miss our past life in all its details,” she says.

We do, but we also know that our past lives are lost. Even if the war ends, nothing will be the same. Nothing will compensate us for this bitter loss.

The ceasefire that takes effect today is supposed to stop the fighting, but it is unclear whether it will end the war. More than 120 people have been killed since Wednesday when it was announced. We know that more will die because conditions will not improve. Gaza is no longer fit to live in.

Even if there is lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions to continue the siege and harassment of the population. Reconstruction – if it occurs – will continue for many years. For this reason, we as a family made the decision to start building a new life in exile despite the challenges we face.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.