Katya

In the dimly lit backstreets of Kyiv, a young woman named Katya sat on the cold, cracked pavement, leaning against the brick wall of an alley. Her tattered coat, too thin for the biting November wind, did little to keep her warm. Her eyes reflected a weary resilience—a look forged through hardship and loss. Katya had once been a student with dreams of becoming a journalist, fascinated by stories that could shake the world. But life had other plans. With her family scattered by the turmoil of war and her home lost in the shuffle of battles and uncertainty, she’d found herself on the streets, surviving day to day with little but her memories and a few crumpled hryvnias in her pocket.