As the golden hues of the July sky deepened and the Maghrib Azan echoed in the distance, 26-year-old housewife Sumi Akter made her way home, passing a toy shop – when a sudden wave of pain surged through her heart.
Exactly a year ago, her four-year-old son Ahad clutched her pallu and pleaded for a toy. Today, only silence walks beside her.
“Ahad loved being outside. Almost every evening, he would go for a walk with his mother,” said Abdul Ahad’s father, Md Abul Hasan.

“He was so fond of toy cars – every outing ended with him bringing home at least one,” he said, his voice quivering, heavy with tears.
Abdul Ahad, only four years old, became one of the youngest martyrs of the July Uprising.
It was Friday, 19 July 2024 – just eight days after little Ahad’s fourth birthday – when gunshots erupted near their home in Jatrabari around 4pm. Abul Hasan and his wife rushed to the balcony, Ahad followed, standing innocently between them. Seconds later, a bullet tore through his right eye.
“Ahad’s elder brother, Dihan, studies at a madrasah – we had the same dream for Ahad. He had already memorised Surah Ikhlas, Surah Fatiha, and many daily prayers from his mother,” his father said, his voice trembling.
Even now, when Sumi Akter raises her hands in prayer, she can almost see little Ahad beside her – kneeling on a tiny prayer mat, softly reciting Surah Nas or Surah Falaq, just as he used to.
Abul Hasan was a government employee, but in July, grief cast its shadow indiscriminately – touching not only middle-class families like his but also the homes of the struggling working class.

 Tamim Shikdar, a lively and curious ten-year-old boy from a lower-income family in Dhaka.
He loved playing football with his friends, savouring his mother’s homemade noodles, and tinkering with electronic parts from toy cars and other gadgets – nurturing dreams of becoming an engineer one day.
His father, Jewel Shikdar, a rickshaw puller, worked tirelessly to provide Tamim with the education he never had.
He recalled, “All my hardships felt worth it when I came home to see Tamim waiting for me – eagerly taking money from my hand to buy ice cream the moment I arrived.”
He was a spirited third-grade student at Rampura Primary School, brimming with life and dreams. But on 19 July 2024, those dreams were brutally shattered. It was an ordinary Friday afternoon – Tamim wasn’t part of any protest; he was simply playing football near Farazy Hospital in Banasree when a bullet struck him.
By 5pm, doctors at Dhaka Medical College pronounced him dead.
Not only innocent children, but also teenagers – just beginning to grasp the meaning of life – were also struck down by bullets. And even after Sheikh Hasina fled the country, the bloodshed continued unabated.
On the afternoon of 5 August, news of Hasina’s fall spread, and the streets erupted in celebration. Seventeen-year-old Riyan joined his friends and older brother Rafin, heading toward Shyamoli’s Ring Road for the victory rally.
But the streets were far from safe. A group of armed police officers remained stationed nearby. Riyan believed that with Hasina’s flight to India, the police would no longer open fire.
But moments later, gunshots shattered the silence. Rafin rushed forward, only to find his younger brother motionless on the road – wounded by three bullets: one to the face, one to the chest, and another to the shoulder.
“Whenever our parents brought food home, he never ate alone – he always shared with us. If there was any leftover, he’d go out and distribute it among the poor,” said Nasib Hasan, Riyan’s elder brother, his voice trembling as he fought back tears.
Riyan dreamed of becoming a pilot. A talented cricketer, he played for the Dhaka Metro Under-16 team at the national level. Every winter, he’d buy blankets from Bangabazar and distribute them to those in need.
 “He could drive anything – bike, car, even a microbus. I actually learnt to drive from him. And it wasn’t just driving; he knew every detail about a car inside and out,” Rafin added.
But who could have imagined that the brother who taught him to drive would one day be rushed to the hospital in that very same car – lifeless, slumped in the seat behind him?
“He had already passed away an hour and a half before we reached the hospital,” Rafin said, his voice choked with emotion.
Riyan was the middle of three brothers. His father, Md Golam Razzak, serves as an official at the Ministry of Agriculture.
It wasn’t just Ahad, Tamim, or Riyan – according to the Ministry of Women and Children Affairs, 135 children and teenagers lost their lives during the July 2024 uprising.
They were innocent – unaware of violence and unaware of the bullets fired from helicopters or the pain those bullets cause.
In that ruthless July, no class, no faith, and not even the purest lives were spared.