Day 1,254 of the invasion; 31 July 2025, Kyiv, 4.30am. The air-raid alarm started again just a moment ago. I wake up from the roar and rumble of rockets. It’s a sound that makes you want to flee in primeval terror.
Time slows down. I roll over on the bed, embrace my girlfriend Dasha, make another half-turn and we drop down softly to the floor. I am not thinking or reflecting, I’m guided by instinct – move away from the windows, position our silhouettes as low as possible. I cover Dasha with my body. All she has time to ask for is: “The doggie? Where’s the dog?” From under the bed, we can hear the rustling of our old chihuahua’s paws.
