Four years ago today, in just a few hours, I will wake to the sound of explosions. My boss will call, telling me to report to my post. I remember standing by the window, finishing a cup of coffee in the dark. I hadn’t checked the news yet, but I didn’t need to. I could feel it in the air, an invisible fracture. The life I knew was already gone, it just hadn’t vanished completely yet. I hurried to the bus stop, hoping to reach the metro faster. Even at that hour, a few elderly women were already there, settled into their usual routines. We all boarded the bus together. They looked out at the chaos growing in the streets, then turned to me with confused, searching eyes. “Why is everyone rushing?” they asked. “What is happening?” I looked away, staring through the glass at the stream of cars surging past us, fleeing in an unknown direction. I didn’t know how to tell them. I didn’t know if there were even words for a moment like this. Finally, I turned back to face them. My voice was steady and calm. “I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “The war has begun.” The bus kept moving, carrying us all away from a life we would never know again…