Vasha experienced more than most adults by the age of 10 but less than many children.

He had grown up in the pandemic world, online school and social restrictions. Then the war. Life under occupation. 3 months spent in the basement with other local families.

The kids played hide and seek with their friends in the basement. Lots of it. Some tag as well as football. And of course, war games - young boys mirroring the reality taking place outside.

When the artillery was silent, they could leave the basement - play in the street. Breathe fresh air.

And then there was liberation, Ukrainian forces retook the city. Celebration. They arrived with aid and gifts. But then the long haul, the war was far from over.

Schools across Ukraine were still closed, or destroyed. It was back to online schooling for Vasha.

So it was that Vasha had never known the sound of a school bell, notes passed between classmates, recess's blissful anarchy. But he knew his family. He knew his home. His favorite blanket. His beloved cat.

At 10 years old he knew the things that we're most important.

The boys had changed during the war, mom said. They became closer. They shared more. They stopped fighting. They began to help around the house.

The three were inseparable. Anchors in times of great uncertainty. The family's home had been destroyed, most of their belongings with it. They we're poor before the war, now they had next to nothing. But they did have each other. Vasha had his brothers.

Vasha was reserved at first when I asked to take his photo. His older brothers were pre-teens and he was keen to maintain the adolescent coolness that they had both exuded on camera earlier.

But Vasha was still a kid. And so were his brothers. Just kids growing up in war. So I tried to make Vasha laugh, and then I asked

"Vasha, show me how high you can jump"

And he lept.