Maria Yaniuk left her central Ukraine village at midnight, taking a train to Kyiv before dawn to sell milk, sour cream, butter, and cheese from her family's cows. As she set up her stall in the Lukyanivka district, air raid sirens blared in the darkness, signaling Russian drones heading towards the Ukrainian capital.

Loud explosions shattered the silence as Ukrainian air defense opened fire, but Yaniuk pretended not to hear. "Where else can we go? We still have to sell our goods," she said.

A large explosion rang out, followed by a rising column of black smoke, as a drone struck its target. To the east, the sun began to rise.

Kyiv at dawn, viewed from St. Volodymyr Hill park. *Photo: WSJ*

A bed in the bathroom

At 6:45 a.m., broadcaster Anatoliy Yatsechko jogged across a bridge towards St. Volodymyr Hill park, which offers a panoramic view of the city. Smoke from fires caused by fallen drones blurred the visibility, and a pungent burning smell hung in the air.

Drone jamming systems disrupted GPS signals on his smartwatch, but he knew every street corner by heart. Yatsechko regularly jogs five mornings a week. He needs to run to maintain his mental balance. "For many Kyiv residents, jogging has become a mental anchor amidst instability," he explained.

Inside Kiev-Pechersk Lavra, the city's most ancient monastery, the new day began with a morning prayer.

Residents pray at Kiev-Pechersk Lavra monastery. *Photo: WSJ*

At 7:47 a.m., Olesya Mygal bent down to wake her four-year-old daughter Sofiyka, who was sleeping on a bed in the bathroom, nestled between the sink, toilet, and washing machine.

"Time to wake up, my little bunny," she said, kissing her daughter.

They live in an apartment building on the east bank of the Dnipro river. During each air raid, Mygal moves Sofiyka's bed into the windowless bathroom, considered the safest spot in the apartment.

Sofiyka stretched, smiled, and ran to wash her face. Mygal cooked her a bowl of porridge.

At 7:52 a.m., a loud explosion rattled Mygal's window. She quickly scrolled through Telegram on her phone, checking channels that tracked drone movements. Sofiyka calmly continued eating her porridge.

Since late summer, air raid sirens have become a familiar part of daily life for Kyiv residents. Despite this, Mygal has not grown accustomed to it. She stated that the psychological pressure is growing heavier and harder to endure.

At 8:02 a.m., a phone notification indicated that the situation had returned to normal. Mygal rushed Sofiyka to kindergarten and then went to work. She rechecked her daughter's emergency backpack. Inside were water, snacks, spare clothes, tissues, a toy rubber cat, and Sofiyka's blood type card.

At the kindergarten, whenever the sirens sound, the children are taken down to the shelter and divided into designated rooms for each group. They still laugh and talk innocently, only the teachers' eyes are heavy with stress.

Teachers and students inside the shelter at Sofiyka's kindergarten. *Photo: WSJ*

When the all-clear signal rang on their phones, the teachers led the children back to the schoolyard, helping each small child up the steps that were too tall for their legs.

"This is how we live now," said teacher Olena Nadvorna.

'Life must go on'

By 9:30 a.m., drone attacks continued, engulfing many areas of Kyiv in smoke and fire.

At a gas station hit by a drone, the charred remains of a drone lay on the ground, amidst concrete fragments, corrugated iron, and broken glass. Thanks to timely evacuation, no one at the gas station died. one hour later, five more intense attacks targeted the area around Kyiv's central station.

Residents clear debris at a gas station hit by an attack in Kyiv. *Photo: WSJ*

At a cafe in the city center, two-year-old Yuna eagerly chased a flock of crows outside. The girl was not old enough to understand the dull explosions around her. Despite the danger, Yuna's family kept their appointment to take her for a check-up and attend a concert that evening.

Not long after, anti-aircraft fire erupted again. By noon, thick black smoke billowed across the city center sky.

At 12:57 p.m., at Okhmatdyt children's hospital, doctors and parents constantly checked Telegram for air raid alerts. This area was hit by an attack in 2024, which leveled part of the hospital.

Through many alerts, Iryna Stebnivska chose to stay in her hospital room to care for her four-month-old child instead of going to the shelter. Disconnecting monitoring devices and medical equipment each time they moved took too much time. When she heard anti-aircraft fire, she simply turned her back to the window, shielding her child with her body.

At 3 p.m., at the Yeezy beauty salon in central Kyiv, no customers canceled their appointments even though the sirens had sounded five times. Manager Daryna Markhonos said maintaining beauty routines also helps people stabilize their mental state. When the all-clear signal sounded, the space was again filled with pop music.

Black smoke rises over the Ukrainian capital after an attack. *Photo: WSJ*

Amidst the sirens, Olena Urvantsova sat braiding her hair, preparing for her "moth" role in an upcoming performance at the National Academic Opera and Ballet Theater. After 5 p.m., the theater lobby lit up, welcoming the first audience members. Art teacher Valentyna Kyselova smiled, taking souvenir photos with her friend. Despite teaching eight classes in a bomb shelter, she still felt lucky to have secured tickets.

"Life must go on," she said.

At 7:57 p.m., the Khmary bar on a city center rooftop was almost full. By candlelight, couples sipped wine and chatted, only glancing at their phones to check when the sirens sounded.

Oleksandra Pastushenko, 25 years old, renovated the bar last year. Looking back over the past year, she believes she was too reckless to open the bar, but it was entirely worth it.

Pastushenko was both amazed and saddened by the adaptability of the Ukrainian people. After many years of conflict, the human mind gradually becomes numb to danger as a self-defense mechanism, clinging to any remaining peace.

"What I fear most is what will happen in a few years, when we all wake up, when our bodies realize what they have endured all these years," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

At 9:30 p.m., Sofiyka nibbled on cookies with herbal tea before bedtime. Mygal, her mother, browsed the news while eating a cookie to calm her nerves.

"Everyone tries to pretend they are okay, but in reality, they are not okay at all. I don't know how much longer I can endure this kind of life," she confided.

At bedtime, Mygal led her daughter to the bed in the bathroom and read her a story about the night fairy. On the book page was a peculiar creature resembling a rabbit with wings.

"Every night, the night fairy scatters countless stars across the sky, and then in the early morning, she quietly gathers them all back," Mygal read aloud.

Passengers evacuate the central station in Kyiv during an air raid siren. *Photo: WSJ*

Sleep at the station

At 10:16 p.m., the main hall of Kyiv's central station was still bustling. People queued through security gates and looked up at the train schedule board. Most trains still departed on time.

At platform one, the train connecting eastern and western Ukraine arrived a few minutes late. Train conductor Natalia Matsiiuk recalled her crew's morning started at dawn in Kyiv with an air raid alert and an order to evacuate the entire station.

Suddenly, an air raid alert sounded again on the platform, interrupting her words. A young woman hastily asked if there was time to retrieve her checked luggage. "It's too dangerous, you might be left behind," the conductor replied. The woman boarded the train, and just minutes later, the train departed.

Around the station, passengers waiting for trains rushed down to the pedestrian underpass, which had become a temporary shelter.

At 12:05 a.m., heavy rain began to pour. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky had just issued a warning about a large-scale Russian missile attack.

The streets of the Lukyanivka district were empty and dark, lit only by the flickering red taillights of a garbage truck starting its shift.

one lone taxi waited for passengers in the city center. "This is my last trip of the day," said 66-year-old driver Leonid Terpyak. "Everyone has gone home."

Jamming signals interfered with GPS, causing navigation apps on phones to frequently lose service, creating considerable inconvenience for drivers. "Sometimes the machine reports I'm in Peru," Terpyak recounted. But he knew Kyiv's streets like the back of his hand and did not need mechanical assistance.

His passenger arrived, a young woman in high heels, smelling of perfume and drenched by the rain. She reassured someone on the phone that she was almost home, and the taxi drove away.

The first missile struck Kyiv just minutes after the siren. For the next half hour, more than ten explosions continuously rang out across the city.

In the Zvirynets district, residents rushed to the subway station. Despite the torrential rain, few carried umbrellas. Their hands were busy carrying folding chairs and camp beds.

Down in the subway station, some people fell asleep. Others sat reading books or playing cards. The all-clear siren sounded at 2:27 a.m., and residents along the platform began packing their belongings.

At 3:20 a.m., in northern Kyiv, outside a maternity hospital, several oto were engulfed in flames in the parking lot, which had just been hit by a missile. The heavy rain helped firefighters quickly extinguish the blaze.

The only person on the road at this time was struggling to change a car tire hit by missile fragments.

The wreckage of a downed drone fell into a residential area in Pechersk district, Kyiv on 5/10/2024. *Photo: KyivIndependent*

Further to the east, debris from an intercepted missile fell into a residential area. Utility poles were broken, and power lines dangled onto the road. The entire neighborhood was plunged into darkness.

An elderly woman stood in the street, lighting a cigarette in the rain. Dust clung to her clothes. Missile fragments had knocked down her fence and shattered her window. "It could be worse," she said. "It hasn't reached the worst point yet."

one block away, a section of a Russian missile was embedded deep in the ground. More waves of drones were heading towards Kyiv. Police used loudspeakers to urge everyone to immediately leave the streets. And the rain continued to fall.

Vu Hoang (According to WSJ, AFP, Reuters)