Haneen and Revan had pictured their wedding as the happiest moment of their lives, surrounded by nearly 900 friends and family in a grand banquet hall in Qaraqosh. But as they swayed in each other’s arms that evening, a sudden, terrifying crackle echoed overhead. Within seconds, the nylon ceiling began to melt and collapse in flames, sending sparks raining down and igniting a roaring inferno that spread faster than anyone could react. Panic erupted—guests screamed, stumbled, and trampled one another in a desperate bid for the exits. Revan fought through the chaos to pull Haneen to safety, but she suffered painful injuries as she was jostled during the stampede.
The groom’s father had warned the venue about the dangers of indoor fireworks earlier in the day, but staff had assured him they were safe, electric displays. Only a single fire extinguisher stood between celebration and catastrophe—and it proved useless. By 10:45 p.m., the composite ceiling panels—highly flammable and prohibited by safety codes—had collapsed in sections, plunging the hall into darkness and filling it with choking smoke. Civil defense teams later confirmed that the hall’s ceiling materials turned the space into a death trap.
Revan and Haneen managed to escape through a side door into the kitchen, but more than 100 guests perished in the blaze, and at least 150 were injured. Among the fallen were ten of Haneen’s own family members, including her brother and mother; her father survived but suffered severe wounds. The joyous occasion was forever marred by grief and guilt.
Within days, authorities arrested fourteen people connected to the indoor fireworks display, including those responsible for setting them off. Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al‑Sudani vowed harsh penalties and promised rigorous inspections of public venues, but for Haneen and Revan, nothing could undo the horror. They abandoned their hometown, unable to bear the memories of that night—every attempt at happiness shattered by the flash of the fire’s first spark.
Haneen, traumatized beyond words, has remained silent since the tragedy struck in 2023, while Revan describes their shared grief in stark terms: “We’re alive, but we’re dead inside.” They cannot return to the hall where they once danced; its ruins stand as a haunting monument to lives lost and futures destroyed. Even now, as they rebuild in a new town, the memory of that fiery collapse will always shadow their every step. No words can ease the depth of their pain—only the passage of time and the enduring support of loved ones may offer a glimmer of hope that, one day, joy might outshine the sorrow.