The Message That Changed Everything:
I was in the FlixBus from Munich to Frankfurt Airport, a seven-hour long drive, and for some reason there was traffic on the way. One thing about the FlixBus I want to highlight is that you only get one hour of internet connection, so I had saved it for the last hour to check my flight details. We were three in number. I met those two friends at the airport from Nepal, and they are some of the most beautiful friends in my life who were saviors in everything during my very first solo travel in Europe.
So Bibhushan said, “Kindly check your phone, Pranjal, I think our flights are cancelled,” and that agitated me, and I quickly checked my phone, turned on the Wi-Fi, and there were 23 missed calls from Baba, 12 missed calls from Mamu, and flooded texts from Mama and what not. My flight was cancelled, and the reason was the war. The US and Israel bombed Iran, and my airspace was via Tehran, so all my flights had been cancelled. We panicked so hard, and being in a non-English speaking country, we ended up at the wrong station, and to reach Frankfurt Airport we got scammed in between. With our giant and injured suitcases, we were navigating this massive airport in confusion.
A Journey Already Doomed from The Beginning:
And when we reached the Air India counter, there was a queue of people, and the counter had written that the flights are cancelled, and when our turn came, we were told that they would give us a hotel to stay for a day and tomorrow we could proceed. Okay, I forgot to tell, our journey had started with an aircraft accident. Flight AI171 operating Ahmedabad to London Gatwick had crashed, and the flight timing had clashed with my flight time, but luckily, I was going to Frankfurt, so I was in the aircraft for 3 hours, and later on all my trains were missed in Germany, so the journey started like that with Air India.
Pic: when all the initial flights were cancelled
So now I was relieved that I was given the hotel with two of my friends, and trust me we had so much fun. We talked so much, did all of the eccentric crazy stuff, swam harder, and mainly packed the luggage outside of our hotel room as we exceeded the check in time.
When Chaos Followed Us into the Airport:
Things were different when we reached the airport again to get the tickets. We got Qatar Airways, and my realization hit when I got to know that the terminals are all changed when you are switched to the expensive and the most demanded airlines. But when we took the train to reach the other terminal, things started getting all unplanned. The two of my friends, Nirbhica and Bibhushan, were caught in immigration. Their visa had expired yesterday, and the Air India airlines did not tell us anything. And I was the only one who passed, and I was left alone. They were taken away by the police officers.
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We were pranking our friend Sandesh about getting caught and lost in the airport just an hour ago, and suddenly my friends were actually caught. I was alone there navigating, not knowing what to do, calling Mamu and crying. My biggest strength was my Baba’s WhatsApp texts with each detail about what to do next in the airport, and it was the perfect guideline. When I look at those texts and voice notes, I feel emotional. My biggest weakness was Mamu’s call. The way she was concerned and panicked made me more scared. So, I always say that my Baba is the sky, my Indra and the roof of mine, and Mamu is my creator and protector, my Brahma.
The Flight That Refused to Land:
Anyways, I was not getting detected in the security check in Frankfurt due to getting panicked and was scolded by the officers. Finally, I got a sigh of relief, and my constant tension was whether to inform my friends’ parents or not, and due to the constant building tension, I entered the wrong aircraft and had to rush again to reach my plane. When I sat in my seat, I was hoping that they, my friends, would come to me. If not, I would have cried. But they came screaming and rushing. This itself was the whole chaos.
We held each other’s hands and said we will manifest only good in this land. But things were terrible ahead and we did not know what was coming.
The aircraft was about to reach Doha and it was circling the airspace, and we sensed something was wrong. In Qatar flights there is only one time- one hour internet available, and the net was also slow and not working properly. We hurriedly checked our phones and got to know there had been a missile attack in Doha. The entire plane was tensed and nobody spoke. Then the midair announcement came from the pilot that we were heading to Turkey instead.
Six Hours Trapped Between Sky and Fear:
The pilot announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now heading to Istanbul Airport, and the ground time is 9:05 pm.” When we were landing, we could see all the planes lined up like traffic. Seeing those other aircraft standing there with us made everything feel heavier, as if we were not alone in fear but part of a silent crowd trapped in the sky. We were not allowed to come out of the plane. There was no food. We were so hungry we shared one packaged meal from the cabin crew. This was the last meal. Other passengers could not get one also. We were inside the plane for six hours. No announcement. The cabin crew also did not know anything.
Pic: Scenario outside of the aircraft at Istanbul Airport
There was no internet connection, our batteries were almost dead, and that feeling of being cut off from the world made the fear stronger. Outside, the airport looked so bright with lights, so beautiful in the dark night, calm and glowing like nothing was wrong. But inside the plane it was something else. Inside it felt heavy, suffocating, and uncertain. Life seemed faded. Pain so deep that tears also could not flow. Time felt frozen. Every minute felt like an hour. No one spoke loudly. Even whispers felt heavy. People kept looking at each other’s faces as if searching for answers that no one had. Some passengers stared outside the window without blinking, some were praying silently, some were holding their hands tightly, and some just sat still as if their thoughts had stopped working. Hunger was there, fear was there, uncertainty was there, but the worst feeling was not knowing anything. That silence inside the aircraft was louder than any sound.
After six hours there was an announcement from the pilot that Doha airspace was cleared to land, and we were finally headed to Doha, not knowing whether we were flying toward relief or straight into the shadow of war.
Pic: In the airspace, heading Doha, Qatar
Inside The War Zone:
When we were about to land, I opened my internet, the last one-hour internet again which I only used to see the texts from Baba for just ten minutes, waiting for his messages. His texts were a roadmap and an emotional letter. He had mapped everything about Doha for me. But when we got out, it was pandemonium. It did not feel like an airport. It felt like stepping into a storm made of people and panic. People were crying with their luggage, some were angry, some were shouting, flights were cancelled, and queues maybe three kilometers long stretched across the hall like endless lines of confusion. Voices were echoing from every direction, announcements were unclear, and there was no internet. The big screens flashing news about the attacks made everyone more scared. Fear was visible on faces. Some people were arguing with staff, some were praying, some were sitting silently staring at nothing. I could feel my own heartbeat louder than the noise around me. It felt like the ground was stable but life was not. In that moment I understood that a war zone is not only where bombs fall. It is where certainty disappears.
Pic: Situation of the Doha Airport after the missile attack
We had no one but each other. We sat on the ground with no energy and survived with a fifty-dollar burger and a bottle of water. Hunger did not feel like hunger anymore. It felt like survival. After hours of standing, pushing, waiting, and moving inch by inch in those endless lines, we reached a point where we forgot all ethics. We started slipping between lines, squeezing through gaps, not because we wanted to break rules but because exhaustion and fear had taken over our minds. It felt like survival of the fittest, like if we did not move forward, we would be stuck there forever. Every step ahead felt like a small victory. Every minute felt like a test of patience and strength. People around us were fighting for space, for answers, for help, for hope. Some were pleading, some were shouting, some were crying. In that crowd nobody was a stranger, everyone was just a human trying to get home.
After eight hours of pushing through bodies, confusion, noise, and helplessness, we finally reached the counter and were given a three-day visa and a hotel. That moment felt like someone had suddenly lifted a mountain from my chest. Relief did not come as a shout. It came quietly, like breath returning after being held too long.
Relief Tastes Like Home:
At the hotel we ate like maniacs after everything in the last 48 hours. Hunger did not feel normal anymore, it felt like our bodies were finally realizing we were safe for that moment. People kept saying Qatar was safe, that things were under control, that there was nothing to worry about. But being in a country where missile bombing had just happened does something to your mind. Safety outside does not immediately become safety inside. Even while swimming we were scared, looking up at the sky again and again, thinking what if something appears above us, what if another attack happens, what if this calm is only temporary. The water around us was still, the hotel was peaceful, but inside our hearts there was a quiet fear that had not yet left. It felt strange to smile and laugh while somewhere not far away the sky had carried weapons instead of clouds.
Soon we went to the airport and finally got a flight to Kathmandu. I remember the silent tears rolling down my cheeks. They were not loud tears, not dramatic ones, just quiet tears of release, like my body was slowly letting go of all the fear it had been holding. When I sat in my seat, I did not feel excitement, I felt gratitude. Gratitude for being alive, for being safe, for being with my friends, for having parents waiting for me. My eyes closed on their own, not because I was sleepy but because exhaustion had finally won over fear. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I slept deeply in the plane, like someone who had finally reached home even before landing.
Why This Memory Returned?
Now, when I saw the news that Iran had launched missile and drone strikes across the Middle East, hitting cities like Doha. I was immediately transported back to what we went through. Major airports were hit, airspace was closed, thousands of flights were cancelled, and travel networks collapsed.
Reading that, I realized again that war feels distant until you face it. I remembered how it felt to be in a place the world calls safe, yet nothing felt safe. The silence of waiting, the tension in the air, the bright airport lights that should have felt normal, and the fear that cannot be explained to someone who has never stood where missiles could fall, these memories stay with you. I could feel what the people in those cities must have felt: confusion, chaos, disbelief, and a raw uncertainty about whether tomorrow would even come.
This is not about geopolitics. It is about living it: the unspoken dread, the stillness of fear, the way your thoughts stop making sense when survival becomes the only word in your mind. I would not have survived emotionally if it were not for what kept me grounded: the Hanuman Chalisa whispered in my heart, the strength of my friends, and the calm guidance from Baba and Mamu. When the sky feels uncertain and the ground unstable, faith, love, and connection are what keep you standing.
May God give people friends like Bibhushan and Nirbhica and parents like my Baba and Mamu, because they are more than support; they are home when the world feels like a war zone. Seven months later, the fear, confusion, and helplessness still return. Even now, I feel the tension in my chest, remember the frantic calls to my parents, and the uncertainty that made every step feel like a battle. That memory of being caught between chaos and survival has stayed with me, sharper than I imagined.
