They learned to solve everyday problems on their own.

They sit in the capital’s half-empty coffee shops—beautiful, strong, and so exhausted their knees tremble. They are stylish and well-groomed, with flawless manicures concealing a soul that is fractured and aching with tenderness. They have learned to handle daily challenges on their own, to make donations, and to work to the sound of explosions—yet they have completely forgotten how to be weak. Because there is no one there for them to be weak with; that shoulder to lean on is missing.

Each of them writes her own invisible letters into the void.
In these lines lies the very essence of the present moment:

The pain of watching the world around you crumble while the person closest to you chooses silence.

Resentment toward men who have forgotten how to make the first move, hiding behind screens and an armor of their own fears.

A longing for the days when one could simply press cheek against cheek—without fearing what tomorrow might bring.


She sends a message into the void and bites her lip bitterly until it bleeds. A tear rolls slowly down her cheek, leaving a wet trail on the cold glass. Outside, the dim headlights of a rare ambulance drift past, while the phone holds nothing but that same relentless silence.

And the most terrifying part of this story isn't the war or the darkness outside the window. The truly terrifying thing is when you exist, your love exists, and your tenderness is ready to warm the entire world—yet that world seems to have gone deaf, leaving you alone with your immense, unspent pain.