In a city weathering the storms of conflict, life seemingly adheres to a familiar rhythm.

The sun rises over Kyiv, casting its golden glow upon a bustling scene where people clutch cups of coffee and hurry to their daily routines.

The streets hum with the energy of traffic, and as dusk descends, restaurants overflow with laughter and conversation.

But this metropolis, wearing a veneer of normalcy, conceals a narrative far more intricate and harrowing than meets the eye.

Looking past the facade, the urban landscape of Kyiv reveals the scars scribed by Russian bombardment.

Monuments, museums and office buildings stand adorned not just with their usual grandeur, but also with the stark protection of sandbags.

The once-vibrant streets retreat into a hushed emptiness as the clock strikes midnight, the city observing an imposed curfew under the shadow of night.

Within the culinary havens that dot the cityscape, diners gather to share tales of life's various facets: friendships, careers and leisure pursuits.

Conversations dance from the allure of the silver screen to the next concert rendezvous.

Yet, the tide can swiftly turn, sweeping these exchanges into the realm of the unimaginable – stories of farewells to loved ones, of tense hours spent in concealment during missile onslaughts, and the delicate balancing act of nurturing productivity through nights devoid of sleep.

Amid this blend of ordinary and extraordinary, Aliona Vyshnytska, a 29-year-old project coordinator, unveils a bitter truth: "Death has become a very routine part of our life."

Vyshnytska resides in Kyiv, where she curates her rented space with trinkets and indoor plants in a bid to craft a haven of comfort.

Yet, the jolting tremors of explosions routinely send objects tumbling from her windowsills, their vibrations leaving her grappling with migraines as dawn breaks.

And yet, like the countless souls that call this city home, she persists in her pursuits, carrying on to "celebrate life in breaks from the war."

Her fear, like an unshakable shadow, looms large – the specter of Russian aggression haunting her every thought.

Since its inception in 2014, the assault on Ukraine has cast a prolonged pall over her hopes, suggesting a future incongruent with the essence of humanity.

"And it is this sort of background feeling that your life is simply being taken away from you, a life that should look completely different," she laments.

Stepping into the second year of Russia's relentless siege on Ukraine, Kyiv wears less of the physical devastation that marked its initial months.

A bolstered defense apparatus valiantly intercepts the ominous flight of Russian drones and missiles aimed at the city, most frequently under the cloak of night.

As summer rays bathe the streets in their warm embrace, whispers of normalcy flutter around every corner: lovers find solace on benches, children orchestrate their laughter in parks, daredevils test their mettle with bungee jumps over the Dnieper River, and newlyweds grace the asphalt with their dance.

But by looking deeper, one will glimpse the lingering traces of sleepless nights, etched onto faces that bear the weight of both relentless attacks and an onslaught of sorrow.

Olesia Kotubei, another denizen of Kyiv, carries the weight of the conflict on her shoulders.

Her beloved serves on the front lines, and her dearest friend marches in the military's ranks.

For her, the specter of war is an unending specter that shadows even the most joyous moments.

She recounts a poignant snapshot: a cafe nestled in the heart of Kyiv, where she celebrated her 26th birthday with a close friend.

Amid flowers and verdant beauty, the strains of St. Sophia's Cathedral filled the air as they sipped their coffee.

Yet, even as tranquility draped the scene, an undercurrent of unease tugged at her senses.

Those were the first days of the Ukrainian counteroffensive – a time when her beloved was a cog in the assault's relentless machinery.

"At this moment, you cannot influence anything; you have to wait and maintain your mental health, somehow not lose your mind," she reflects.

Her phone, a portal to the world beyond the city's confines, bears a picture of her love beneath its cover.

A mirrored image occupies the same prized space on her boyfriend's phone, a poignant testament to their intertwined fates.

In the midst of her words, the blaring sirens pierce the air.

Olesia's exhale carries the weariness of one familiar with these chilling alarms.

A barrage of explosions follows in quick succession, shaking the city to its core. "These missile attacks, happening in parallel with my attempts to live a normal life, affect me deeply," she says.