"Now, even the wind frightens me," said a displaced girl in Gaza. "Sometimes when it howls, I think it's a plane. I cover my ears and wait for the sound of an explosion. We used to play hopscotch and hide-and-seek ... now we hide for real, but there's nowhere safe to hide."

GAZA, June 1 (Xinhua) -- In the battered Tel al-Hawa neighborhood, west of Gaza City, childhood remnants lie beneath a makeshift tent's torn fabric.

Fourteen-year-old Kamal Mahdi sits hunched on damp blankets, his thin frame swallowed by the ruins around him. His eyes -- wide, hollow -- trace the shattered street ahead, scanning the rubble as if searching for a version of his past life that no longer exists. He wraps his arms around his knees, his voice barely more discernible than a whisper.

"Before the war, life was simple," Mahdy told Xinhua. "I woke up early, put on my uniform, and rushed to school. Afterwards, I'd play football in the alley with friends. On weekends or holidays, we'd gather around my grandfather ... He had stories about the Nakba, about how our people were forced from their homes in 1948."

He paused, his voice cracking. "I used to think those were just stories from the past. But now ... I live it. I know what it means to lose your home, to run with only what you can carry. I know what it's like to fall asleep to the sound of bombs and wake up to nothing but dust," he lamented.

The future he once imagined -- one filled with dreams and laughter -- shattered in October 2023, when an Israeli missile struck his neighborhood.

"We fled many times," Mahdi recalled, his chapped hands rubbing together. "Each time, we left something behind. A photo album, a toy, my school notebooks ... even my grandfather's grave. We couldn't even say goodbye."

Next to him sat his 12-year-old cousin Camelia, curled up on a plastic mat, her fingers tightly clutching a worn-out school bag.

"I loved school," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I loved the smell of new books and how proud I felt wearing my uniform. My teacher used to say I had a beautiful voice for reading. I used to dream of becoming a teacher too."

Camelia dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks, smearing dust with tears as she stared at the sky -- once a cradle of stars, now shredded by smoke and the skeletal remains of buildings.

"Now, even the wind frightens me," she said. "Sometimes when it howls, I think it's a plane. I cover my ears and wait for the sound of an explosion. We used to play hopscotch and hide-and-seek ... now we hide for real, but there's nowhere safe to hide."

Kamal placed a protective arm around his younger cousin, his face a mixture of grief and resolve.

"We are just children," he said. "But we are made old by this war. Every day, we lose a piece of who we were."

For Gaza's children, the war has upended daily life, replacing classrooms with shelters and laughter with fear. "We are just children," Kamal said. "But the war has made us old."

Kamal watches over Camelia as she dozes off beside him. "We don't want much," he said. "Just peace. Just to live."

Figures from the Gaza-based health authorities last month showed that about 16,500 children have been killed since the conflict escalated on Oct. 7, 2023. Many others suffered amputations, burns and psychological trauma.

In al-Nuseirat refugee camp, central Gaza Strip, nine-year-old Issa Ahmed lives in a tent on the rubble of his home. Months ago, an airstrike took both his arms. Once a joyful child who loved drawing and football, he now depends on his mother for every task.

"He used to cover our walls with drawings of birds and the sea," his mother Sarah said. "Now, he can't even wipe his tears."

"I dream I have arms again," Ahmed said. "I run to my mother and she holds me. But when I wake up, I remember what happened."

His mother, who lost her husband in the same airstrike, struggles to care for Ahmed and his siblings. "He asks if his arms will grow back. I don't know how to answer. I just tell him he's strong," she told Xinhua.

With no access to prosthetics or psychological care, the family survives on aid and support from neighbors. But recovery, especially for children like Ahmed, remains distant.

Ten-year-old Lujain Shehada, living in a temporary shelter in Deir al-Balah, also in central Gaza Strip, queues daily for water with her mother. "We sleep on the ground," she said. "My back hurts. My feet are cold. I miss my bed and my school."

Children now face not only displacement and injury but also the collapse of Gaza's education system. Palestinian Education Minister Amjad Barham told Xinhua that over 95 percent of schools in Gaza are now closed.

"Some alternative learning exists, but with no electricity or safety, most children can't study," he said. "They are lost between fear and confusion. Psychological care is just as essential as food."

According to children's advocacy groups, the conflict has sparked a mental health crisis among Gaza's youth. Symptoms include depression, anxiety, sleep disorders, and mutism. Some children write their names on their hands in fear of dying unidentified.

"The trauma here is profound," said Rawan Ghayada, a Gaza-based psychologist. "Children suffer from chronic stress, PTSD and social withdrawal. Some have stopped speaking altogether. Others scream in their sleep."

"These children want what any child wants -- to feel safe, to go to school, to play. But they've been robbed of that chance," she said.