{"id":7721,"date":"2026-07-07T14:35:10","date_gmt":"2026-07-07T11:35:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/?p=7721"},"modified":"2026-07-17T21:30:56","modified_gmt":"2026-07-17T18:30:56","slug":"lm-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/lm-4\/","title":{"rendered":"Three Lean Hours"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Memory Witnessed<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n<\/div>\n

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tLiving Memory\u00ab<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t
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Aya had always dreamed of the moment she would stand on the graduation podium, holding her certificate in her hands, receiving the proud looks of her parents and professors.
Four years had passed \u2014 years spent within the walls of the university, moving between books and exams, wandering the campus corridors, resisting the exhaustion of the days, and persevering for her dreams.
They were four years of hard work and determination. She saw her university degree as the beginning of a new life, never knowing that all those years would lead her to a moment that would change her fate entirely.
In her final academic year, she found herself facing a turning point she never imagined she would encounter.
The events that had unfolded in As-Suwayda over the previous months did not stop at the city's borders \u2014 they reached into the lives of its students, casting shadows over their academic futures.
Amidst this reality, Aya learned that she might not be able to complete her studies as planned. She felt that years of effort were threatened with being lost, and that the future she had envisioned for herself was becoming increasingly uncertain.
But despite everything, she remained determined to return to As-Suwayda \u2014 the city where she had grown up, the place that held the meaning of home and belonging.
She wanted to start over, to reclaim something of her life after months that had changed the rhythm of the city and weighed down its people's days with fear and waiting.
She wanted to return, holding onto what remained of her dream, believing that the road might be long, but it does not end as long as one is still able to try.
On her way back from Damascus to As-Suwayda, Aya carried more than a suitcase. She carried years of study, and hope for a new chapter. She did not know that the road that was meant to bring her home would become the last road she would ever take.
She stopped at a bus station, waiting for enough passengers to fill the vehicle, and then the journey began. The bus carried children, women, and the elderly \u2014 each with their own destination and story. But for Aya, the journey was not merely a transfer from one city to another; it was an attempt to return to the place where she had always felt safe, after months weighed down by anxiety and disappointment.
But, as sometimes happens, things do not go as planned.
While passing through a checkpoint administratively located within the Damascus countryside, the bus traveling from Damascus to As-Suwayda came under fire. Several passengers were wounded, and two were killed. Aya Salam was one of them.
At first, the passengers did not comprehend what was happening \u2014 before bullets pierced the bus and struck those inside. In a matter of moments, the journey turned into a scene of chaos and fear.
Heartbeats raced; the cries of the wounded rose, while the driver tried to push forward at full speed to escape the line of fire.
As for Aya, the moment did not grant her time to understand or to survive. A bullet struck her, and she fell inside the bus, as the vehicle continued on its way toward As-Suwayda.
When the bus finally reached its destination, it carried not only its passengers but also a scene heavy with loss and shock.
As for Aya, she did not arrive as she had hoped. She was the first victim of that attack \u2014 her journey ending before she could complete the final chapter of her academic dream.
Aya never made it home, even though the distance was almost behind her. She was carrying the certificate that marked the end of years of hard work \u2014 but the road reached an end she had not chosen. Between her first name, Aya, and her family name, Salam, her story stands as a testament to a dream interrupted before it could begin.
In a city known for its commitment to education and cultural life, Aya's departure was a shock to all who knew her story. Her graduation was not written as she had dreamed, but her name remained alive in the memory of those who knew her \u2014 as a student who was not given time by the road to complete what she had started.
Aya never had the chance to stand on the graduation stage she had waited for so long. But her story remains a witness to the fragility of the road that sometimes separates a dream from its end. Accidents may fade from news bulletins after a few days, but a whole life, waiting to begin, ended during a journey that lasted only hours.
And that is why Aya's story is not told as a number in an incident, but as a student who was returning home, carrying years of effort and hope for a different future... but she never arrived.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\n<\/div>\n

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\n\t\t\t\t\tWritten and documented by: <\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\tYasmine Ayman Masoud<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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As for Aya, she did not arrive as she had hoped. She was the first victim of that attack \u2014 her journey ending before she could complete the final chapter of her academic dream.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u0637\u0627\u0644\u0645\u0627 \u062d\u0644\u0645\u062a “\u0622\u064a\u0629” \u0628\u062a\u0644\u0643 \u0627\u0644\u0644\u062d\u0638\u0629 \u0627\u0644\u062a\u064a \u0633\u062a\u0642\u0641 \u0641\u064a\u0647\u0627 \u0639\u0644\u0649 \u0645\u0646\u0635\u0629 \u0627\u0644\u062a\u062e\u0631\u062c…<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7993,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[36],"tags":[35],"class_list":["post-7721","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-living-memory","tag-memory-witnessed"],"blocksy_meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7721","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7721"}],"version-history":[{"count":43,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7721\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8441,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7721\/revisions\/8441"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7993"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7721"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7721"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/malathinitiative.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7721"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}