Life goes on outside the window—people hurry home, some with bags, some with flowers, some simply walking, hiding their faces in scarves.
And in this seemingly familiar scene, I notice small miracles: smiles, gestures, moments of kindness that seem to fill the city with strength.

Today I witnessed one such story that left me with warmth.
In the small courtyard of a neighboring house, a man stood with a huge bouquet of white chrysanthemums—they seemed to glow in the evening gloom.
He stood there, smiling, waiting for the woman.
She emerged from the building entrance, tired.

When the man handed her the flowers, her face changed: the fatigue vanished, and her smile was so light, as if for a moment she'd forgotten everything—the war, the worries, the difficulty of breathing in this city.

I looked at them and thought: this is why Kyiv still stands.
Not because of stones and concrete, but because within the city live people who refuse to let their souls break.

We hold on not because of strength—we hold on because of love, because of the small miracles that happen around us every day.

And even if sometimes it seems like there's no more strength... even if our hearts tremble with fear, even if our hands drop—we still rise.

Today I caught myself thinking that I'm no longer waiting for the sirens to end. I'm waiting for the silence to begin. These are two different things.

I'm not waiting for the moment when the danger will pass, but for the moment when we can live peacefully, fully, and happily.

I know this day will come.
As confidently as people hold flowers in the middle of a cold November.
I know because every evening I see these little stories that keep me from breaking.

And if you think we're only afraid here all the time... no.
We also believe. Sometimes desperately. Sometimes quietly. But we believe.

As I finish writing these lines, someone laughs outside.
Genuinely, loudly.
And this laughter is like a promise that everything will be alright.

Our life is all we have!!!