Preface
The story of a young woman torn from her homeland, forced to leave behind the echoes of her past. From Bosnia to the United States, she steps into the unknown, carrying the weight of loss and uncertainty.
As she navigates a foreign land, she faces the struggles of settlement, the challenge of building trust, and the inner conflict of identity.
But within the hardships, she discovers something unexpected—the courage to embrace change and the ability to find home in a place once unfamiliar.
Through resilience, empathy, and quiet determination, she begins to weave herself into the fabric of her new world, proving that belonging isn’t defined by borders but by the heart’s ability to adapt, grow, and accept.
1. Darkest night
The streets of war-torn Bosnia stretched endlessly before Vasma, each road carrying the echoes of destruction and despair.
For three relentless nights, she had run—through crumbling alleys, past abandoned homes, beneath the unforgiving sky. Every step had been a battle, a desperate race against an enemy she could not see but could always feel.
Finally, beneath the stairway of a shattered building, she found a moment’s solace. Her mother’s lap became her refuge, a fragile shield against the chaos outside.
As soon as her eyelids fluttered shut, exhaustion pulled her into a fitful sleep—but war was not so easily forgotten.
Even in dreams, the sounds of gunfire ripped through the silence, the roar of collapsing buildings shook the earth beneath her, and the cry of frightened souls lingered in the wind.
Then, a sudden rush of footsteps shattered her fragile reprieve.
Her younger brother, breathless and shaken, burst into the shelter, his voice sharp with urgency.
“Vasma, wake up!”
His words were a knife slicing through her exhaustion, dragging her back to reality.
Her mother stirred, and fear crept into her expression even before the words came.
“We have to run. Again.”
Panic gripped Vasma’s chest as her brother relayed the news—their father had been captured.
There was no time to mourn, no space for grief. The streets were not safe. The enemy was never far.
With nowhere to hide, they had only one choice—run, flee, and keep running until they found a way out.
The weight of their journey pressed down on Vasma, but she swallowed her fear. She had no choice. Survival meant movement, and until they reached safety, rest would forever be an illusion.
Vasma’s breath was shallow, her pulse loud in her ears as she clutched her brother’s arm.
The world around them was falling apart, but her heart clung to only one truth—she couldn’t leave without their father.
“I’m not going anywhere without him,” she whispered, her voice laced with defiance and desperation.
Her younger brother, wild-eyed and tense, tightened his grip on her wrist. They didn’t have time for sentiment. War didn’t wait for emotions to settle, nor did it pause for reunion.
“If you stay here,” he said, his voice firm but breaking, “who knows if he’s even alive? And if he is—he would die trying to save you.”
Vasma felt the words sink into her chest like cold steel.
“The best thing we can do,” he continued, trying to anchor her in reason, “is to save as many of us as we can.”
She shook her head, her heart refusing to accept the unknown.
Her brother lowered his tone, searching for words that might make her listen.
“I don’t know if he’s alive,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But if he is, he will find us. No matter what.”
The finality in his statement pressed down on her. It was not a decision she wanted to make, but in war, choices were not born from desire—they were carved out of survival.
Slowly, reluctantly, Vasma nodded.
2. Tearing apart
They would leave, for now.
They would escape, find shelter, and hold onto the hope that one day, when the world felt whole again, they could return—and look for the man they had been forced to leave behind.
The road stretched ahead, dust swirling under the hurried steps of Vasma, her brother, and their mother as they moved toward the faint hope of an escape.
Their home was gone, their father taken, and the war showed no mercy—all they had left was the instinct to survive.
A soldiers’ truck rumbled toward them, its tires kicking up the dirt of a wounded land.
With no other option, they climbed aboard, pressing into the harsh metal as the engine roared forward.
But war was never far.
Before they could reach safety, gunfire cracked through the air—sharp, merciless, echoing against the silence of those already lost.
The truck jolted.
Enemy soldiers emerged, blocking the road like ghosts summoned from the earth itself.
Panic crashed through Vasma’s chest as the vehicle swerved violently, the world tilting beneath them.
“Jump!” someone yelled.
She barely had time to think. The three of them leapt, hitting the dirt as the truck sped past, bullets slicing through the air behind them.
Before Vasma could find her balance, rough hands grabbed at her, pulling her back into the chaos.
They were trying to take her, to steal her away into the darkness.
Her mother screamed—then, with a force Vasma had never seen before, snatched the rifle from one attacker.
Her brother lunged. His fingers found another weapon, gripping it like the only thing keeping them alive.
But it wasn’t enough.
The enemy was closing in, and their desperate struggle was slipping from their grasp.
Then, a movement—a young man, barely nineteen, charged into the fight, his strength driven by purpose, not fear.
Vasma barely had time to scream his name before his body became a shield, before he threw himself forward, taking the blows meant for her and her mother.
She saw the light in his eyes flicker, his body crumpling as the war swallowed him whole.
His final breath came with words she would never forget.
“Vasma—more power to you. Save yourself and Mom. Forgive me for not being able to—God is watching you. Get up and run, girl!”
Her heart shattered.
Her brother grabbed her wrist—pulling, begging, forcing her to run.
She wanted to stay, wanted to hold on to the life slipping away before her, but the war had already taken enough.
3. Run for Life
With one last glance, Vasma turned and ran, the weight of his sacrifice burning into her soul.
Was it her brother’s sacrifice that gave her the strength to keep running, or was it truly God watching over them?
Vasma would never know, but in that moment, she felt something greater than fear—a force pushing her forward, guiding her steps, urging her to survive.
The two women ran, not because they had a plan but because stopping meant death.
With every breath, every pounding footstep, they claimed their right to live, channeling a power from within that neither had known existed.
Vasma had learned something vital—roads were traps.
Man was more dangerous than beast, and the open pathways were filled with enemies, with unpredictable threats waiting to close in.
She chose the jungle.
She knew the land, had grown up among these trees, had once wandered the wild in curiosity.
Now, she ran through it for survival, weaving through thick foliage, slipping through narrow trails, her heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the earth beneath her.
The night stretched long. The uneven terrain tore at their feet, the cold bit at their skin, but they did not stop.
Silent prayers left their lips, not for comfort, but for endurance, for another chance to see the morning.
And then, as the first rays of the sun stretched across the horizon, they saw it—a shelter home, standing like a quiet promise at the edge of exhaustion.
Their knees buckled, their lungs burned, but they had made it.
They stepped inside, shaking, breathless, their bodies covered in dust and sweat. But they had something precious—their lives.
With trembling hands, they registered themselves, sealing their names into a new chapter, stepping into the possibility of a future beyond the nightmare.
Vasma sat in the crowded shelter camp, her voice hoarse from asking the same question again and again—”Have you found anything about my father?”
The officers understood the desperation in her eyes, the silent plea behind every word. But the war had left more questions than answers, and despite their efforts, they had nothing new to offer her.
Two days passed in aching uncertainty. Vasma refused to sleep properly, refused to let go of the hope that somehow, somewhere, her father would find them.
Then came the news.
The United States had agreed to accept several Bosnian refugees, offering passage to a safer future. The officers approached the family.
“Get ready. It’s time to leave.”
Vasma froze.
How could she leave?
She hadn’t seen her brother’s body, hadn’t confirmed for herself that he was truly gone.
What if—just what if—someone had saved him?
She had never gotten the chance to check.
And her father—what if he survived?
What if, even now, he was searching for them?
How could they abandon the chance of finding him again?
Her mother gripped her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes.
“Vasma, we have to go. If we stay here, we don’t know what will happen to us.”
Vasma’s chest tightened.
She could feel the war pulling at her, the past trying to root her in place, but logic screamed for her to move forward.
With a heavy heart, she gave every detail of her father to the officers, pleading with them to keep her updated, to find him, to reach out if there was ever news.
Then came the final moment—the plane standing before her like a door she wasn’t ready to step through.
With no choice left, Vasma boarded the flight.
It wasn’t just a journey to another country. It was the start of another life.
4. New beginning
After a restless, uncertain flight, Vasma’s feet finally touched the land of opportunity—a place she had heard about, dreamed of, but never imagined she would call home.
The air was different, the land unfamiliar, but it was safe, and that was all that mattered for now.
She and her mother spent their first week in a shelter, navigating the complex reality of starting over.
Then, through a stroke of kindness, a generous family took them in, offering more than just a roof over their heads—they provided guidance, warmth, and reassurance in their most vulnerable days.
For three months, Vasma and her mother slowly adjusted, learning the ways of their new world.
Vasma found a job, and her mother took up cleaning services—two women who had survived the unimaginable, now earning their place in a land that had given them refuge.
Then, fate led Vasma to a Bosnian man, someone who understood the struggle, who had once walked the same path of displacement.
He helped her settle into work, navigate the system, and find stability.
Over time, a bond grew.
Their shared history, their pain turned into strength, their resilience—it all pulled them closer, until Vasma realized that this was home.
She married him, embracing not just a new life, but a future she had fought so hard to secure.
Her mother moved in with them, finally under a roof they could call their own, no longer refugees, no longer lost—but rooted, belonging, rebuilding.
5. Was it happily ever after?
Vasma had survived. She had built a life. She had found stability, carved a home, and given her mother the safety they had once only dreamed of.
But in the quiet moments—when the day settled, when laughter faded, when the world allowed her space to think—the unanswered questions weighed heavy on her heart.
Her father.
Her brother.
The past never truly faded; it lingered in the form of memories unfinished, stories without closure.
She never stopped searching.
Though she had stepped onto foreign soil, she remained deeply tethered to Bosnia, to the father she had been forced to leave behind, to the brother whose fate had been decided in the brutality of war—but never confirmed.
Each year, without fail, she contacted the Bosnian officers, hoping that time had worked in her favor, that maybe the war had loosened its grip on the truth.
And each year, the response was the same.
“We do not have any information about your father.”
That was all she ever received.
She read them over and over, searching for meaning between the letters, hoping that maybe—just maybe—one day, the message would change.
6. Aftermath
War is never just a battle between borders—it is a wound carved into the hearts of the innocent; a tragedy carried by those who never chose to fight.
When nations clash, one side claims victory and the other faces defeat, but the greatest casualty is always humanity.
Civilians like Vasma bear the weight of decisions made far beyond their reach, losing homes, loved ones, and the life they once knew.
Yet, amidst the destruction, they carry the impossible strength to rebuild, to survive, to find meaning in the aftermath.
But even in survival, the scars remain—a reminder that war does not just reshape maps, it forever alters the souls caught in its path.
