Dayton brought peace, but it did not bring forgetfulness. A signature on paper silenced the weapons, but it could not erase the ashes from Pionirska Street, the blood from Kapija, or the tears from Potočari. Bosnia and Herzegovina continued to exist, but with a heart divided into two entities, like a bird with broken wings still trying to fly. When the war ended, reality became just as heavy as the years that came before it. The weapons were quiet, but fear did not disappear.

Alisa stopped working at the restaurant. We were finally all home. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. Even though the war was ending, life was still not safe. Corruption was everywhere, and people did everything to survive. Dad was released from military duty. The company where he worked before the war had been turned into an arms factory, so he was allowed to stay and work. We were relieved. At least he would sleep at home instead of in a pit in the middle of nowhere. A

Our father went to the front line in two-week rotations. Soldiers were exchanged every fourteen days. Whenever the trucks arrived back in the village, families gathered in tense silence. We searched the faces stepping off the trucks, holding our breath, praying. Every safe return felt like a miracle. Every missing face felt like the end of the world. Often, the silence was shattered by a mother’s scream. Everyone knew what it meant. Her son had not returned. He had been kille

My mother was Catholic, born and raised in Dalmatia, Croatia. She married my father, a Muslim. In our home, we celebrated Bajram and Christmas, dyed eggs for Easter, and never argued about faith. During the war, my mother traveled to Croatia to bring back food. Sometimes she hid inside UNPROFOR trucks. Beneath sacks of flour and rice, weapons were concealed. Every journey was dangerous. Roads were unpredictable. Checkpoints could change in seconds. One wrong move could mean d

Until April sixth, nineteen ninety-two, our world was simple. It was filled with laughter, play, and the smell of my mother’s cooking. Summers were warm and free. Winters were calm and bright. That day, we heard sirens and gunfire for the first time. Sirens cut through the air. Gunfire followed soon after. The sound of machine guns echoed across Mramor hill and crept deep into our bones. My mother pulled us inside and locked the door. That night, we slept fully dressed, a sui