If I was one of the victims of Ukraine-Russia War

I can barely sleep at night since the Ukraine-Russia war began. Even after crossing the Poland border on March 3rd, the echoes of war refuse to leave me. I have seen, heard, and felt things that will never fade from memory.

Now that I am back in my family home in India, surrounded by loved ones, you might expect peace to come easily. But after days of restless anxiety, when I finally caught a couple of hours of sleep, I had a dream so vivid it shook me awake.

I woke up screaming my mother’s name—yet she wasn’t around. That’s when I decided to write down what I saw.

It is a week after the war has begun. We step out of our underground bunkers to gather necessities for dinner.

The room is crowded—forty or fifty people, mostly women and children. Bags open, hands sorting, voices overlapping about what can we do for tonight's sleeping turn. Someone have to be awake in case something happens to alarm up everyone. At 4 p.m., the air is heavy with fear, yet filled with fragments of conversations about relatives, survival, and prayers. Among that sea of strangers, I spot a familiar face—my mother. She walks toward me, carrying the bottle of water I had asked for. In reality, she was never with me in Ukraine, but in this dream, she is.

Suddenly, the ground trembles. We all got alarmed thinking something has happened very very close to our building. Everyone's breathe is on hold. Silence falls. All eyes go to the ceiling. A few women start chanting the names of their gods. My heart races. I looked at every corner, at every face, searching for my mother but i can't see her anymore. I crawl under a table with two girls my age. They are crying, whispering they don’t want to die. Fear gnaws at me, but I tell myself to be strong. My mother needs to see me strong.

Within moments, the ceiling begins to tear open and we could see the sky in between the flames covering the ceiling .the ground quakes, the walls radiate unbearable heat. Death feels closer than breath and everyone is screaming their lungs out, trying to find any way to come out alive from that room. Couple of women deliberately ran towards the exit door which is half-swallowed by fire. I still couldn't see my mother's face so I started screaming to find her. I know I'm dying and all I want, is just to see her face. I'm screaming "ma, where are you" several times and i heard ," Astha, I'm here!" —her voice. I'm relieved and I saw in the direction of the voice and she is holding a little girl, about five years old, in her lap. Tears run down her face, but she still tries to calm the child. I don’t know whether to break down or to admire her courage.

I looked around the room once more and realised there's a hard glass window across the room . I grabbed my mother's hand and pulled her toward me and throw myself against it, hoping it'd break. Once, twice—on the third try, with my left arm bleeding, the glass finally shatters. But in the chaos, I lose her grip. At this point, I'm blank, i have lost my voice to scream anymore and in a quick second, Women surge forward, bodies colliding, desperation everywhere. I am pushed to the edge. For one fleeting second, I see her face again.

“Maa!” I scream.

Is it what happens when it comes to you? this is what I'm feeling right now is, the fear I was living with, for last so many days, Is that it??

Is there still a hope to be saved? Will I see my mother again? I am falling. Or maybe floating. I can’t tell. I haven’t breathed in what feels like twenty minutes. My heart feels like it has stopped in the middle of the air. I haven't even touched the ground yet. Is this how my story ends?

This dream was only a glimpse, yet it felt like living through the war all over again. Even though I am safe now, my mind carries the weight of those memories, those fears, and that endless question: what if?

No words can truly capture the pain of war, but perhaps sharing them keeps the memory alive—for those who lived it, for those still living it, and for those who should never forget.