My flatmates and I had dinner at our usual restaurant in the city centre, then went back home. Each one of us came from a different city so we had rented a flat together until the end of our university exams.
We were still awake a little after midnight on June 14, 2014, when we heard a large explosion. We rushed out to find out what had happened. Our street was suddenly alive with people, but nobody had any information on the source of the blast.
I walked into my room and found my friend Baraa throwing her clothes into her suitcase.
Baraa burst into tears.
Both of us flinched when we heard a loud knock on our door, but I plucked up my courage and went to open it.
It was my classmate Saeed, who rushed in and slammed the door behind him.
My flatmates began bombarding him with questions, but he had no answers or ideas of what to do next.
Powerless and alone
We sat there discussing our options. By three in the morning, we had formulated a plan.
We believed it would be better to go there than stay in Hassakah waiting for the unknown. We would think of our next step once we were safe.
The girls and I spent the next few hours gathering our belongings. When we were finished, the flat seemed as if we had never lived there.
Unable to leave the house without the protection of our male friends, we felt powerless and alone.
I wondered if I would ever set foot in my family home again. I had hated living there because it was so far away from my university, but now I longed for its familiarity and comfort.
Our flatmate Sarab suddenly stood up.
Panic attack
Around 30 minutes later, someone knocked at our door. We opened it and found two men carrying Sarab, who was unconscious.
One of the men was a taxi driver. He told us what had happened.
Sarab was pale and felt cold. None of us knew what to do so we sought the help of our neighbour who was a doctor. She told us that Sarab had suffered a panic attack, and quickly brought her round.
Foreign fighters
Three hours later, my flatmates and I finally managed to contact Saeed. He had hired a minibus to take us to Raqqa along with his friends.
The driver came to collect us soon after, but we were delayed for a further hour while we haggled with him over the inflated fee he demanded.
My friends and I sat in silence, barely daring to breath. We were all petrified.
Would we make it? Or would we die?
If we died, how would that happen?
The driver suddenly broke the silence.
We still had a long way to go, so he decided to stop for a short rest. He pulled over on the side of the road and stepped out of the vehicle to stretch his legs. Saeed and his friends joined him.
Moments later, we saw a truck speeding in our direction. The vehicle stopped and two armed men disembarked.
The militants approached the group of men and began talking to them.
We were amazed when a few minutes later they smiled and went back to their vehicle.
The driver and our friends got back into the bus. I could tell that one of them was suppressing the urge to laugh.
At that he burst out laughing.
We continued our journey to Raqqa feeling a little safer. We knew that any IS militants we might run into would most probably be foreigners who did not speak Arabic, and knew nothing about the religion they were supposedly fighting for. We had a chance of talking our way out of danger.
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