“Quick, get under the bed!” my mother whispered. My father was at war, so only my mother and little sister were home. We all squished under the bed. Outside, we could hear screaming and gunshots. I could feel how scared the two of them were. Another gunshot, and the window broke. A bullet went right into the mattress above us. 

I don’t know how long we stayed there. The sun leaked from the room and it became dark. Finally, my mother told us to slowly get out from under the bed. She whispered to us to escape through the back door. There was a small hole in the bottom of our fence. My little sister went through it easily. Then it was my turn.

It was a little harder for me. But I got past the fence. I wondered how my mother would get through. When it was her turn, she got stuck. The metal from the fence was going into her skin. My little sister and I were too weak to pull her through. Then a hand appeared.

I was too tired and scared to see who it was. That hand helped pull my mother through the fence. Then, that hand took us to their home, where we hid together.

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was out. We had fallen asleep at my neighbor Yildiz’s house. She was the helping hand!

Yildiz’s ancestors, or past family, are from Turkey. Mine are from Greece. My mother and Yildiz have known each other for all their lives. They went to school together. They went shopping together. They were very good friends.

But because of the war, they hadn’t been able to talk for months. The military was everywhere now, watching everyone’s moves. Making sure we followed their rules.

The war was happening because of politics. Both the Greeks and the Turks had invaded Cyprus with hopes for a greater empire. More land, and more people.

We were all separated from our friends and family now.

The next morning, we said our goodbyes to Yildiz and her family. The military was separating everyone to one of two sides. The Greeks were to go to the south. The Turks were to go to the north. We weren't allowed to take anything with us. The government would be assigning us a house and that is where we would live.

A few hours later, we walked into what would now be our home. The house was about the same size, and like ours, every corner was filled with memories. Only these ones belonged to some other family. 

I went upstairs to find my new room. It was a little bigger than my old one. The bed was in the center, with a studying table against one wall. There was a bookshelf full of Turkish books that I couldn’t read.

I wanted my old life back.

I sat on the bed and heard a crunching noise. When I stood back up and peeled back the sheets, I found an envelope. I opened it up quickly and saw that it was written in English. Thankfully, I knew how to read English, since it was taught at schools in Cyprus. It said:

Dear friend,

My name is Şerife. I am 14 years old. My grandfather is from Turkey. I used to live in this room. Now I will live somewhere in the north. This war is terrible. I will have to switch schools, make my home somewhere else, and find new friends. Worst of all, I don’t know when my father will come back. He is at war. I am sure yours is too. I hope all this ends soon. I have written my new address below so we can write to each other, if you'd like.

I hope to hear from you,

Şerife