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At the base of a police station, recently captured from Assad’s forces, young fighters from Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham gather around a pickup truck mounted with a heavy machine gun. One, his face tanned and partly obscured by a black-and-white keffiyeh, sips tea from a small cup, seemingly unfazed by the surroundings.
Another fighter, leaning against the vehicle, methodically flicks the selector switch on his Kalashnikov. The sharp click of the mechanism pierces the otherwise quiet afternoon.
A month ago, HTS forces—a group formed in 2017 from the merger of rebel and jihadist factions in Syria’s northwestern Idlib governorate—overthrew Bashar al-Assad’s regime in a lightning offensive, ending 52 years of dictatorship in less than two weeks.

In Damascus, the leader of the HTS group and Syria’s new head of state, Al Jolani—formerly the head of Al-Nusra in Syria—has shed his jihadist identity, adopting his civilian name, Ahmed Al Shara. He has swapped his khaki uniform for a European-style suit and now welcomes diplomats and ministers from around the world to his office.
However, despite this symbolic transformation, Al Shara and his “Salvation Government” face the immense challenge of rebuilding a Syria left deeply scarred by years of war.
Large parts of the country, including regions under Kurdish or Turkish militia control, remain beyond his reach. In areas liberated from Assad’s control, tensions between Alawites (the sect from which Assad’s family originates and the backbone of his regime), Sunnis, and Christians threaten to ignite further conflict.
Meanwhile, in territories previously held by Assad, the situation is equally bleak: the economy is nearly non-existent, electricity is available only a few hours a day, and rampant inflation continues to cripple daily life.
Yet, for now, it is still a time for celebration and joy. Symbols of the regime have been dismantled one by one, and along the M5 highway, tens of thousands of refugees are finally returning. For the first time, they are going home.
Abu Rami is one of them. With a knife and ammunition clips strapped to his uniform, the 33-year-old returned from Idlib to Eastern Ghouta at the head of an HTS column.
No one was waiting for me at home. My parents died during the siege, along with other members of my family. I couldn’t even find my house because the neighbourhood was so destroyed.
Abu Rami on returning home
Located just a few kilometres from Damascus, Eastern Ghouta was the site of one of the Syrian civil war’s deadliest and most violent battles. The epicentre of anti-Assad protests in 2011, the district was besieged by the regime in 2012, supported by Russian airpower and pro-Iranian militias.
“I first served in Assad’s army. Then I deserted to join the opposition and defend my neighbourhood,” Rami told Byline Times.
“I can barely remember those years. Everything is a blur.”

From 2012 to 2018, he and his comrades from Faql Al Rahman, a moderate Islamist group, endured daily bombings, starvation, and sarin gas attacks.
“The Russians destroyed everything in Eastern Ghouta. They prioritised targeting hospitals and civilians. Their goal was to force us to leave. That’s why they also used gas against us,” explains Abdul Rahman, one of Rami’s companions, also from Ghouta.
It wasn’t until 2018, after a final offensive by Assad’s forces, that the opposition, exhausted by more than five years of siege, ultimately surrendered. A deal allowed them to capitulate in exchange for safe passage to exile in Idlib governorate.
“When we left for exile, I never thought I’d return here one day,” Rahman, 24, admits.
Rebuilding Amid the Ruins
Seven years later, Rami, his bulletproof vest tightly strapped to his shoulders, walks through the debris of his past, accompanied by two of his comrades.
Their return is tinged with melancholy. “The first hours after the liberation were so intense I could hardly breathe,” Rahman recalls.
“Everyone welcomed us as heroes. People were firing into the air, playing drums, and organising feasts. But it was hard to come back home afterward. Our entire life here was destroyed by Assad and the Russians.”
Wandering through the maze of streets, Rami stops in front of a mosque under construction. “This used to be an 11th-century mosque. The Russians destroyed it. Farther along, there’s the church that was bombed. Assad claimed he was protecting Christians, but he was killing them too.”
A hundred meters away, his eyes mist over as he gazes into the distance, lost in memories. “My father and mother died on this street, killed by a Russian Iskander missile”, says Rami.
Nearby, on what remains of a central square, Rahman points to a building. “That was my home. The Russians destroyed it.”
He climbs the stairs, one by one. At one point, he stops, and after a few moments of silence, uses his boot to push aside a stone. “This is the room where my sister and mother died.”

Since their return, the two men, along with other comrades from Ghouta, have been assigned to defend and secure their neighbourhood.
Their commander, Abu Fahed, a 40-year-old former member of the Free Syrian Army and the Al-Nusra Front, explains their mission: to protect the Syrian people. “All we want is for Syrians to finally lead their own country,” he told Byline Times, before admitting they face many challenges.
“Beyond policing, we are tasked with identifying and dismantling sleeper cells of Daesh in the region, as well as former Assad regime groups. We arrest regime criminals and prevent the risk of attacks, whether car bombs or other threats. Generally, we combat any possible threat to the new government and the Syrian people.”
However, Rami highlights that the primary threat still comes from groups loyal to al-Assad’s regime. “The main threat is in Latakia or Tartus, where members of the Alawite community (the religious group of Assad’s family) continue to attack HTS forces daily. As for Daesh, all I can say is that if anything happens, it would be a good opportunity for HTS’s enemies to undermine their legitimacy and attack them.”
The Return
In a room of his house, destroyed by a Russian bomb, Nasser, a young HTS soldier recently returned from exile, feeds a small stove with sunflower seeds to heat one of the few renovated rooms in the family home. Part of his family stayed behind after 2018, while he went to Idlib.
“I hadn’t seen him since 2012,” says his uncle Ayman, who fled to the north of the country before the siege of Ghouta began.
Nasser is still trying to readjust to being back. Several times, he attempts to describe the emotions he feels about returning.
I can’t believe it. My body is here, but my heart can’t grasp what’s happening. I think no one expected the regime to fall so easily or that we’d be back home so quickly
Nasser, HTS soldier
Between cigarettes, he admits, “I had resigned myself to the idea that I’d never see my family or my city again.”
“I met my nephew for the first time last month,” Nasser says, pointing to the young man. “Look how tall he is. He has a beard. He’s a man now.”
Wissam, Nasser’s nephew, barely knew he had an uncle in Idlib. “Because of Bashar, we didn’t call each other. We were too scared to talk. We knew they were there, but we never hoped we could speak. Seeing each other now is like living a dream.”
Still, Ayman, his round face worn by years of hardship, acknowledges the difficulties exiles face when returning to their neighbourhoods. “There are two big problems: housing and jobs. Over 90% of the buildings have been destroyed, and there aren’t enough jobs for everyone.”
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For now, Rami, Nasser, and their comrades are stationed in Ghouta, but they don’t know for how long. As soldiers, they could be sent to another city or neighbourhood at any moment. So for now, they take things day by day, savouring the chance to be home.
“I dream of bringing my children here,” sighs Rami. “I have three. They’re with my wife in Idlib. Inshallah, they’ll come here soon. The only thing I long for is to live in peace in my neighbourhood and never leave it again.”