Dreaming in Wartime Kyiv

The war claims more than bodies. It steals futures, dims ambition, quiets the boldness to create. And yet, beneath the ruins, some voices still dream.

It was an early summer evening in Kyiv, where the war had seeped into the very air, an undercurrent as steady as the distant hum of power lines or the faint tremble of old tram rails beneath the streets. The shadows of war lengthened and receded with the hours, uninvited companions at every table, in every conversation.

I met Bohdan again, finally. Three years had passed since our first encounter, when I came to Ukraine to document the scale of the Russian invasion. Back then, Kyiv pulsed with a strange, determined life under siege. We had tried to meet again in the years since, but life, war, work, circumstance pulled us in different directions. Still, our thread of conversation had stretched across the months in late-night text messages and quiet promises: next time, when things are calmer, when there’s space to breathe.

Now, at last, here we were, seated across from each other at a small café tucked away on a side street. Inside, the dim amber light softened the edges of the room; ou…