100 days after the joint attack by the United States and Israel against Iran, the war is accelerating again. This Sunday, Iran has fired several waves of missiles against Israel for the first time since the ceasefire signed on April 8. This was Tehran's response to the Israeli attack on the southern neighborhoods of Beirut, just four days after the announcement of a new agreement reached between Israel and Lebanon in Washington. The bombing of Dahieh, Hezbollah's political and social stronghold, has left at least two dead and around twenty injured and has marked a new turn in a conflict that, far from showing signs of de-escalation, continues to expand on the ground.

Forty-four years after the start of the Israeli invasion of Lebanon on June 6, 1982, which led to the siege of the capital, Beirut faces an increasingly widespread feeling: exhaustion. Not that of a specific war, but that of a city that has lived for more than four decades amidst intermittent conflicts, incomplete reconstructions, and crises that never seem to be resolved.

For just a few hours, Washington managed to create the impression that a new era could be opening in Lebanon. After two days of trilateral negotiations, the United States announced a ceasefire agreement late Wednesday between Israel and Lebanon, presented a roadmap for the deployment of the Lebanese army in the south, and set new talks for the end of June. But while the statement circulated among government palaces, another reality was asserting itself on the ground.

Israel and Lebanon have agreed to a ceasefire to end hostilities, the Trump administration announced this Wednesday, in the United States' attempt to close the Lebanese front, one of the main obstacles to reaching a broader agreement to end the war with Iran.

Despite de-escalation promises from Washington, in southern Lebanon nothing seems to have changed this Tuesday. The inhabitants of Nabatiyeh have barely had time to process the ceasefire announcements when sirens, evacuation orders, and Israeli bombings have once again imposed themselves over any expectation of calm.

The inhabitants of the southern suburbs of Beirut found themselves on Monday facing a scene they thought they had left behind facing a scene they thought they had left behind. After threats from Israeli Defense Minister Israel Katz, numerous residents began to leave the area for fear of a new bombing campaign against Hezbollah's stronghold. It was not a formal evacuation order, nor was it clear when eventual attacks might occur. But the message was enough to reignite fear. Katz warned that if Hezbollah continues to launch rockets against Israeli cities and towns, the army will respond by hitting targets in the southern suburbs of the capital. Hours later, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and the Defense Minister himself ordered the army to prepare to attack the area, although Donald Trump, assured shortly after, that he had spoken with the prime minister and Hezbollah officials to stop the escalation. Uncertainty, as in every chapter of this war, is accentuated.

The arrival of the head of Pakistani diplomacy, Ishaq Dar, in Washington last week once again fueled the feeling that an understanding between the United States and Iran was possible. For hours, diplomatic leaks and headlines in international media hinted at the possibility of an already advanced draft, discreetly prepared with Pakistan's mediation. But the reality, cautiously confirmed by both sides, is simpler: no final agreement exists yet, and positions are still far from coinciding.

The fragile truce in Lebanon has once again crumbled, thread by thread, under an escalation that is no longer confined to the southern border, but has reached the capital again and projects the conflict into a broader dimension. In the southern suburbs of Beirut, Thursday's Israeli attack marked a new turning point. The target was a commander of Hezbollah's missile unit, linked to the structure responsible for the launches against northern Israel. The bombing, described by the Israeli army as "selective," has brought the war back to the heart of the capital's periphery after weeks of relative containment.

The fragile ceasefire that since April had partially contained the violence in Lebanon is once again faltering following a strong Israeli escalation that began Monday night, the most intense since the first weeks of the offensive. The new troop movements respond to the call of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, to "press the accelerator even harder" against Hezbollah. While Donald Trump tries to keep indirect negotiations with Iran open, and Washington insists on the possibility of a regional agreement – despite the United States' bombings of Iranian positions this Tuesday in the early morning –, on the ground the weapons do not fall silent. Israel has expanded operations, mobilized reservists and multiplied attacks from the south to the Bekaa Valley, in the east of the country, a key area for Lebanese agriculture. In parallel, the Shiite militia Hezbollah has responded in recent hours with 22 drone and rocket attacks on Israeli positions. Their targets have included Israeli soldiers, tanks, barracks and buildings. Direct combat has also been recorded north of the Litani River. The Shiite organization continues to carry out a dynamic that, according to analyst Lina Khatib, associated with Chatham House's Middle East and North Africa program, also responds to directives from Iran, interested in keeping Lebanon within the broader negotiation framework with the United States.

In Nabatieh, the silence only lasts until the next explosion. From the terrace of a makeshift rescue base, Mohamed Sulayman scans the southern Lebanese valley for columns of smoke. Every gray cloud on the horizon could signify a hit house, a bombed road, or a family trapped under rubble. When the phone rings, volunteers rush to the ambulances without knowing if they will return.

In the port area of Beirut, amidst the metallic noise of containers, the wind coming from the Mediterranean, and the concrete blocks of the Biel exhibition center, displacement has ceased to seem like an emergency and has become a stable landscape of precariousness. The space functions as an informal settlement where hundreds of displaced people from southern Lebanonare concentrated, who have fled the Israeli bombs. Blue tarps stretched between metal structures, improvised tents attached to cement walls, and mattresses directly on the ground; a landscape that is beginning to become commonplace.

While the Lebanese and Israeli delegations have met again in Washington for a new round of direct talks, and have agreed to extend the ceasefire, international consensus seems clear: the war has weakened Hezbollah and opened an unprecedented opportunity to advance towards its disarmament. But on the ground, especially in southern Lebanon and the southern suburbs of Beirut, the reality is much more contradictory.

The truce announced on April 17 between Israel and Lebanon was supposed to be a pause on one of the most unstable fronts in the Middle East. Less than a month later, the ceasefire is barely surviving diplomatic statements. Since the weekend, Israeli bombings have left around a hundred dead in southern Lebanon, according to provisional figures from the country's Ministry of Health. The total death toll since March 2nd until this Monday is 2,869 dead and 8,730 injured. Since the truce was declared, more than 400 fatalities have been recorded.

The open negotiations between Lebanon and Israel, driven by American pressure after the new military escalation – which has left more than 2,500 dead in Lebanon–, have reactivated a structural fracture that Beirut has never managed to resolve: Who decides on war and peace in the country? The answer, today as yesterday, remains ambiguous.

Mohamed Hijazi says it's like being buried alive. On April 17, in the early morning, an unexpected call changed his life forever. It was his cousin. He gave him the worst news: his little sister, his three nephews, and his brother-in-law were among the nineteen victims rescued from under the rubble of the Hijazi building, opposite the Tyre promenade. There were only a few minutes left until the ten-day ceasefire came into effect when Israeli planes bombed the building. The explosion tore through the neighborhood at the exact moment the silence was supposed to begin. The truce arrived amidst screams, cries, and rage.

There are lines that precede their own existence. In southern Lebanon, one of them does not appear on any map, has not been validated by any agreement, nor recognized by the United Nations. However, it already imposes its logic on the ground, on displacements, and on destruction. The Israelis call it the "yellow line". And, as often happens in this region, what is born as a provisional military device tends to become permanent.

The old Palace of Justice in Sidon, about 60 kilometers south of Beirut, is once again full of life. But not for the reasons it was built. The old courtrooms, which had been closed for 35 years, have changed function. Where there were once files, judicial hearings, and institutional silence, there are now mattresses lined up against the walls, clothes hung on ropes, and families trying to rebuild a minimal life between cracked walls and roofs that do not fully protect.

The breeze barely manages to soften the tension that can be felt in the improvised camps next to the Beirut promenade. Under tarpaulins held up with ropes and scraps of wood, dozens of families continue here, a few meters from the sea, although the ceasefire has been in effect for hours. No one is dismantling anything, yet. Few seem willing to believe that this time it will last.

The President of the United States, Donald Trump, has announced that the leaders of Israel and Lebanon, Benjamin Netanyahu and Joseph Aoun, will speak this Thursday for the first time in 34 years, a meeting that was later confirmed by Likud, the party of the Israeli Prime Minister. But a little later Aoun has made it a condition that a ceasefire be agreed before any direct conversation takes place. "The ceasefire that Lebanon demands from Israel would be the natural starting point for any negotiation," he said in a statement.

While diplomatic channels are discreetly activated, in southern Lebanon the war continues with an intensity that belies any sign of a truce. The paradox is not new in the Middle East, but it is rarely so evident: talks are beginning, but the front does not stop.