The War No One Wanted

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across Omid’s small room. Outside, the streets of his quiet town stirred awake—the familiar calls of birds and the distant chatter of neighbors preparing for the day. In the corner of the room, a small portable radio crackled softly. It was old, scratched, and battered, but it still worked. It had belonged to Omid’s grandfather, and every morning, Omid would turn it on to listen to music and stories from faraway places.

Today, the radio played a song Omid didn’t understand—words in a language different from his own—but the melody was beautiful. It made him feel as though the world was bigger than his little neighborhood, as though somewhere out there, life was calm and peaceful.

“Breakfast!” his mother called from downstairs, her voice gentle but hurried.

Omid switched off the radio and slipped out of the room, his feet padding softly down the stairs. At the kitchen table, his mother was already setting plates of warm bread and honey, the smell of fresh tea filling the air.

His father was there too, wiping grease from his hands after working in the small garage nearby. He smiled at Omid, ruffling his hair.

“Eat up, son,” he said, his voice steady.

But despite his father’s calm, Omid noticed his mother’s eyes flickering toward the small radio on the shelf. It had been turned on again. This time, the news came through in hurried voices, speaking of rising tensions between two distant countries. Omid didn’t understand all the words, but he caught phrases like “missile alert” and “border clashes.”

“Is something going to happen, Baba?” Omid asked his father quietly, his small hands clutching the edge of the table.

His father hesitated, then said, “People talk a lot, Omid. But we live here, in our home. Nothing will happen to us.”

Still, Omid felt a tight knot in his chest.

The day stretched on, and the sky grew brighter and warmer. Omid helped his mother sweep the courtyard and watered the little plants by the window. The radio hummed softly in the background, mixing with the sounds of the street.

Suddenly, a shrill siren pierced the calm. The sound was sharp and urgent, echoing across the rooftops. Omid froze, his heart pounding loudly.

His father grabbed his hand firmly. “Inside. Now.”

They hurried down to the basement, a small, dim room beneath their house. It smelled of earth and old stone. Omid’s mother hurried behind them, her face pale.

Outside, a distant flash lit the sky—bright and frightening. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet. Omid squeezed his father’s hand, eyes wide with fear.

The radio crackled with urgent voices. The announcer spoke of airstrikes near their city, warning people to stay indoors. Omid wanted to understand, to know if the people he loved were safe, but the words blurred together.

Suddenly, a nearby explosion shook the house. Windows rattled and a cloud of dust drifted down the basement stairs.

Omid’s mother began to cry silently. His father wrapped his arms around both of them, whispering, “We will be okay.”

When the noise finally stopped, Omid crawled back upstairs with his parents to check the damage. The courtyard was covered in broken glass and cracked tiles. Their radio lay shattered on the floor, wires spilling out like tangled threads.

Omid knelt beside it, tears stinging his eyes. That radio had been his connection to the world beyond their home—a world that now seemed distant and broken.

He tried to fix it with a small screwdriver, but the delicate wires were too damaged. The silence that followed felt heavier than the explosions.

As the sun began to set, the family gathered by the window. The sky was painted orange and purple, but Omid’s thoughts were dark.

Then, through the quiet, a faint new sound came—a different voice on the radio waves, faint but clear. It was speaking in a language Omid did not understand, but one word stood out: “Shalom.”

His father smiled softly. “Peace,” he said, explaining the meaning. “Even on the other side, someone is hoping for peace.”

Omid held onto that small hope like a lifeline.

That night, before sleep came, he opened his notebook and wrote slowly, “The war no one wanted has started. But someone, somewhere, is still playing music.”

He placed the broken radio carefully on his shelf, determined that one day, when the world was quieter, he would fix it. And when he did, he hoped the first thing it would play was a song about peace.

Message:

War brings pain, fear, and loss to everyone it touches. But even in the darkest times, peace remains possible—if we choose to listen, understand, and come together as humans first. It’s up to all of us to build a future where stories like Omid’s are no longer about fear, but about hope, friendship, and healing.

How We Can Stop This War

Listen to Each Other:

Sometimes, war starts because people stop listening. If leaders and communities take the time to understand each other’s fears and hopes, they can find peaceful solutions.

Talk, Don’t Fight:

Open conversations, honest dialogue, and negotiation can resolve conflicts better than weapons ever will. Peace talks bring hope; violence only brings more pain.

Build Bridges, Not Walls:

Friendship between ordinary people from different sides can create understanding. When neighbors see each other as humans, not enemies, it’s harder to justify war.

Focus on What We Share:

No matter our differences, we all want safety, family, and a better future. Remembering this shared humanity can inspire cooperation instead of conflict.

Support Peaceful Leaders:

Electing and supporting leaders who seek peace, justice, and fairness can stop wars before they begin.

Stand Against Hate:

War often grows from fear and hatred. Challenging prejudice and misinformation can cut off the fuel that feeds conflict.

Hope and Resilience:

Even in dark times, hope can be a powerful force. Stories like Omid’s remind us that peace is possible if we never give up trying.