I remember going outside after that bombing, and then I felt that the war had begun: an empty city, damaged houses, broken glass, burnt-out cars. You started to understand your fear and it was the fear of war.

I have not come to terms with the fact that my house continues to be shelled. But I'm ready to go back to Izium. And it doesn't matter what it looks like. I'll be fine, spend a few years there, do something. The main thing is that it should be territory under the control of Ukraine. The way home for me will not be blocked by the IDP certificate.

It is as if my internal matrix superimposes on both Kharkiv and Horlivka the image of what they were like before the war. That is, I continue to visualize them as normal, undamaged, and war-free. 

I carried 20 guinea pigs from Sloviansk to Kharkiv. There was no public transport then, the bridges were destroyed. My dad drove us to Barvinkove, and from there a shuttle bus went to Kharkiv. I took a plasma box, made shelves for the pigs and they sat there like sprats — there was no other option. Then they got out, and I had to catch them on the bus.

On that day, the city centre was bombed. "There's a fighter jet in the rearview mirror," he said to us. — If you hear any sound now, jump out of the car and get on the ground."

I was in tenth grade, and my classmates and I were already dreaming of how we would dance the graduation waltz in a year, imagining how we would celebrate the day, and even making a playlist already. And then everything suddenly came to an end because of the war.

Always, especially when the siren goes off, I imagine a missile hitting my apartment: I see the furniture flying apart and how I get killed. I relive these moments constantly - I accept the fact that I'm going to die, and I feel better.
 

In those days, Anya's mother would often say with tears in her eyes, "Thank you so much for bringing my daughter." Those were emotions that we will probably never experience again.