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

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

Here, in Cairo, I keep reliving the trauma of what I had seen, heard and felt in the first four months of the war in Gaza.

When I hear the sound of an aeroplane in the sky, my heart races in fear, thinking it’s a warplane. When I hear the sound of fireworks, I panic, imagining them to be bomb explosions.

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

The death and destruction happening in Gaza still dominate our lives. The sorrow, pain, and struggle for survival that we thought we had left behind still follow us.

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We do not live in a tent flooded by rain and we are not starving; the sound of bombs is not real – it is only the echoes of memories in our minds. But we still live in misery.

My father, the breadwinner of our family, could not find a job for months. When he did, it paid a meagre salary. We face mounting debt and cannot afford basic necessities.

Meanwhile, we have stayed fully immersed in the horror of Gaza. The bombardment, the mass killing, the suffering in torn-up tents – it streams to us on messaging apps hour by hour.

All the Palestinian friends I have here seem to be in the same situation – living in pain and despair, besieged by the war.

“I wish I had died with them instead of living,” my friend Duaa told me recently. Her family sent her to Cairo soon after the start of the genocide to complete her studies in peace. “I had a feeling I wouldn’t see them again when I said goodbye,” she said, sobbing.

A few days after she arrived in Egypt, thinking life had granted her a better opportunity to study abroad, she tried to contact her family to check on them but received no response. Anxiety consumed her until she received the devastating news of their martyrdom.

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

Another friend, Rawan, had been studying in Egypt for a few years before the war started, dreaming of a bright future. On October 10, 2023, a huge explosion destroyed her house, killing her entire family. Only her mother, who miraculously survived despite severe injuries, and her married sister, who lived in another house, are left.

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Rawan told me she missed her father’s encouraging messages, the support of her brothers Mohammed and Mahmoud, and the innocent laughter 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 behind in Gaza, as their names were not on the list of people allowed to go through the Rafah crossing.

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

Nada and her sister live alone, without the support of relatives, and struggle. The stress and sadness have taken a toll. Nada has lost a lot of weight and now says she looks like a skeleton.

She has told me harassment and fear of kidnapping have made them reluctant to leave the apartment they are staying in.

“We yearn for our past lives in every detail,” she says.

We do, but we also know that our past lives have been lost. Even if the war ends, nothing will ever go back to the way it was. Nothing will compensate us for that bitter loss.

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

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Even if there is lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions to continue the blockade and harassment of the population. Reconstruction – if it takes place – will continue for many years. This is why we, as a family, have made a decision to start building a new life in exile despite the challenges we face.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.