The projectile crashed into the huge wholesale market, one of the largest in Europe, in the middle of the night of February 5-6, 2025. City hall staff are starting to clear the area of the market affected by the explosion, while traders try to save what goods and equipment they can.

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According to Olena Klymenko, the press secretary of the Barabashovo market, the Iranian-made Shahed 131 drone that crashed there a few hours ago destroyed about 200 shopping pavilions. "No one was injured at the time of the strike. There were no buyers or sellers, as it was night, but the infrastructure is badly damaged."

The young woman carefully lists the information communicated by the prosecutor's office to the journalists present. While the Kharkiv region has been hit by more than 20,000 strikes of all types since February 24, 2022, the date the Russian invasion began, the market was spared for almost three years.

“On March 22, 2022, a bombing caused a large-scale fire. About 20% of the market burned,” she explains amidst the broken glass and tangled metal structures.

On this cold February morning, there is no sign of panic. The buses and the metro that serve this market located just outside Kharkiv are operating normally. Everyone goes about their business. The traders wonder if they will be able to find other locations in this market that spreads over a hundred hectares. Located less than 40 kilometers from the border with the Russian Federation, the neighboring country was the market's main customer and supplier until 2014.

In the pale morning light, children hold hands as they enter the classroom. In single file, they take off their shoes and go down the stairs to the classrooms… located 10 meters underground.

Opened in January, it is the second underground school built in Kharkiv to allow children and teachers to safely break away from the isolation of online classes. It can accommodate 800 students per day, coming from four schools in the neighborhood for three half-days a week.

In addition to its 1,200 square meters, 17 classrooms, Wi-Fi, and the presence of a security guard and a nurse, the school is also equipped with a heavy armored door and a ventilation system to withstand a bombardment or a bacteriological, chemical or nuclear attack.

In a classroom, children perform a choreography to the song of the mine-clearing dog “Patron”, a national hero.

"When the war started, we realized that children could not study in schools. So the mayor of Kharkiv, Ihor Terekhov, took the initiative to organize classes outside schools. At first, they were in the metro. About a year and a half ago, the decision was made to build underground schools," says Svitlichna Olena.

The head of the district's education department added that six other underground schools and a hospital are being built with funding partly from abroad. This school received a donation from Taiwan.

Cheerful, greeting and smiling at everyone, the manager is inexhaustible on the benefits of returning to school in person, even if it takes place 10 meters underground.

Larissa, the literature teacher, is also delighted to see her students again. "We haven't seen them since the war began three years ago. It's a huge change," says the 22-year-old teacher, without ignoring the children's difficulties. "Many are suffering because their parents are sometimes fighting. Some have lost their parents. Every morning, we observe a minute of silence. We honor the memory of our heroes and remember that we are in a state of war."

Sabina and her friend share the enthusiasm of the teachers and staff. "School is better with friends and it allows you to get out of the house," they explain. "It's unusual [to be in the basement], but it's really great to see my classmates again. It's cool!" says Alicia, 11. "I feel safe, because I know there are a lot of people here, there are teachers, there are guards [...]. It's not normal, but we have no choice," adds Sabina, for whom Kharkiv is the "best city in the world."

The lack of outdoor recess and the 10 a.m. snack, quickly eaten in the classroom, do not seem to dampen the general good mood. "You know, we Kharkiv residents are special. Kharkiv is made of reinforced concrete, Kharkiv is unbreakable," explains the municipal official. "We have not been defeated, we do not know what to expect from a neighbor like Russia, we do not know if there will be negotiations to find peace, but we ensure the protection of our children," she says.

11:30: at the Memorial to the Fallen Soldiers, central square of Kharkiv

The resilience, determination and calm of the people of Kharkiv are impressive. However, the front and its procession of suffering is not far away, only 35 kilometers from the city center. It is also in everyone's mind. In three years, the war has brought mourning to many families.

This is the case of Yulia Datsko, the principal of a school in the city. As often, she goes to the building of the regional administration of the Kharkiv oblast, partially destroyed by a Russian missile in March 2022, in the early hours of the war.

She points to the small blue and yellow Ukrainian flag bearing the name of her husband, Volodymyr, who died fighting in Donbass in October 2024. A reserve officer, he volunteered in the early days of the Russian army's attempted invasion of Ukraine.

Initially a simple fighter, he was later reinstated in his rank of major. He commanded a logistics and support group in the village of Yasna Polyana, between Donetsk and Pokrovsk, just before it fell into the hands of Russian troops. His body remained on the battlefield, but his comrades sent his widow photos of his lifeless body.

"My husband has no grave. Yasna Polyana is now in occupied territory. It is very important to have such a place to honor his memory. Unfortunately, many families have not been able to find the remains of their loved ones to bury them properly," she says with emotion.

His boys, aged 14 and 20, regularly come here to pay their respects. The eldest is studying medicine and works as an ambulance driver with the emergency services. The family is immersed in the daily life of war.

"Without my job, I would have gone crazy. I had a very good relationship with my husband. This loss was very painful for me, it will be until the end of my life. That's why work saved me psychologically. At school, I can help people - children and parents. When you help others, you can more easily overcome your own grief," she explains.

"Like probably all Ukrainians, I am waiting for the war to end, for peace to return so that my children can live, develop the country and work. I want this nightmare to end, for my son to become a doctor. A peaceful doctor, who helps people, as his father would have wanted," adds Yulia.

2:45 p.m.: An ambulance driver haunted by unbearable images

Yulia's son did not want to meet us. But one of his friends, Denys, a shy 21-year-old, agreed to take us to the site of a Russian strike that deeply hurt and shocked him. A medical student and ambulance driver, he intervened on October 31, 2024 at the foot of a ten-story building, following the dropping of a guided gliding bomb by a Russian plane.

Standing in front of the gutted building, he says: "It was horror, panic, I still have flashbacks. The emergency services were clearing the rubble and looking for victims in the lower part, which had collapsed. They brought us a child they had pulled out of there. He was in a very serious condition. We took care of him immediately, but he did not survive. He was 12 years old."

An ambulance driver for a year and a half, Denys wants to do everything he can to help the people of his city. "The war does not depend on us, but people must be ready to help others. We must keep a cool head to be able to help. I don't know what else to say... I am amazed by the courage of the people."

Its leader, Ruslan, notes that the work of the rescue teams has changed dramatically with the war. "The Russian Federation is 40 kilometers away, so the interventions can be very risky. But they have not managed to defeat us. I think that the residents who wanted to leave have already left, and those who stayed, there is nothing left that can surprise them."

In Kharkiv, leisure is scarce. As soon as night falls, the streets empty and the open restaurants are not full. The curfew comes into effect at 11 p.m., plunging the city into a thick silence until 6 a.m. To overcome anxiety, sadness and isolation, the Kharkiv National Opera has resumed its performances in the summer of 2024.

Today, a recital of a classic French opera aria is scheduled for 5 p.m. in the "Bunker," a 400-seat hall set up in the basement of the imposing Brutalist building.

In the large hall, where performances are now banned for security reasons, the director believes that the resumption of cultural activity is not only vital to the morale of the population, but also a patriotic duty. "This is propaganda in the good sense of the word. We are a state and we must promote Ukrainian national culture," says Ihor Touluzov.

Tonight, audiences of all ages flock to listen to Bizet's Carmen and other lyrical works by 19th-century French composers for an hour and a half. The harshness of life on the surface is replaced by a bit of lightness, carelessness and comfort.

Before the performance, Yulia Antonova, one of the soloists, confided that these miniature performances, constrained by the size of the stage, the available equipment and the schedules, are "very important for me and for the spectators. In my first show here [in the "Bunker"], I just went on stage, and I saw people crying. They applauded me and said to me: 'You are our oxygen.'"

At the end of the performance, after thunderous applause and a standing ovation, a very moved woman said that this was the first time she had been to the opera since the war began. "The creativity, the art, the music... It really inspires and allows you to relax a little, to forget about the war, even if only for a moment. Tonight, I feel like a normal person again."

Another spectator added that "it is now the norm [to be in a bunker]. We thank the artists very much for giving us the opportunity to attend this show."

8 p.m.: a family dinner, because "it's better to be together than scattered"

Not far from the underground school, Sabina's family prepares dinner. Their Soviet apartment has all the modern comforts. The parents, Marina, a beautician, and Elnour, a shopkeeper, talk at length about their wanderings during the first months of the war.

In February 2022, they left the city as fighting raged and shells rained down on the city. They headed to western Ukraine, then Poland, Germany and finally France, where they joined up with acquaintances, accompanied by the cat and the grandmothers.

Three months after their arrival in Seine-et-Marne, they made the return journey. 3,000 kilometers to reach western Ukraine for a time and finally Kharkiv, when the victorious counteroffensive of the Ukrainian army pushed the Russian forces out of the region, in the fall of 2022.

Marina speaks Russian, and expresses her fears when the air raid sirens go off in the night. "But no one goes down to the cellar anymore, we've gotten used to it," she says.

"We convinced ourselves that everything would be fine. We wanted to go home anyway. Our children are brave, and so are we. Of course, it's scary. The explosions are scary. We sit here in the evening, the Shahed drones fly above us, and every time we wonder where it will crash," she says.

Elnour Huseinov, Sabina's father, has heard too many stories of couples separated by war who end up divorcing. For him, you have to stay with your family at all costs, at home. "I can't live without my family for more than a month," he confides. And at 35, he has no desire to start over in a foreign country.

In a mixture of fatalism and resignation, he adds that he believes "that this war will end one day, like all wars. It has been going on for three years already and we have already waited so long: first for the war to end, then the counter-offensive, then there was the election of Trump... and now we are still waiting. There will be long negotiations. In any case, we have hope. If it had not, we would not have come back to live in Kharkiv."

Kharkiv lives and resists. The scientific, artistic and commercial flagship of the country, it has nevertheless paid a heavy price. According to official figures, more than 38,000 buildings, including 200 schools, have been bombed in the Kharkiv region since February 24, 2024. And 2,897 civilians, including 104 children, have lost their lives.