UZHHOROD, Ukraine -- This week marks the start of the school year in Ukraine, a pivotal time for any student, especially for teenagers in their final year of high school. Ukrainian teens have more than just grades and university choices on their minds — they are grappling with the realities of war.

One student, still grappling with memories of his hometown in the Luhansk region, almost entirely under Russian control, struggles to adjust to life in the Kyiv area after escaping the Russian occupation. Homesickness persists, a constant reminder of what he left behind. Two other teens agonize over choosing their future professions: They plan for the future while navigating daily threats from Russian-guided bombs and missiles in their front-line cities.

Just before the school year began, the three found a time of peace and healing at a summer camp on the opposite side of the country. The camp for children affected by the war was established and organized by the Voices of Children charity foundation and sponsored by the Olena Zelenska Foundation, the charity set up by the wife of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

For the three teenagers, it was a unique opportunity to connect with other young Ukrainians who have faced wartime trauma and to take a much-needed respite to find renewed strength.

What 16-year-old Oleksandr Hryshchenko enjoyed most about the summer camp in Uzhhorod, near the western border with Slovakia, was that “there was no emphasis on the war.”

“You unwind, talk about what's been bothering you during the day,” he mentioned. His village, Vorozhba, is located at the other end of the country, less than 10 kilometers (6 miles) from the Russian border, in the northern Sumy region.

For him, the camp offered a rare respite from the constant explosions and danger, especially after the Ukrainian military advanced into Russia's Kursk region, about 50 kilometers (30 miles) away.

“People who live farther from the border are still celebrating, reveling in the capture of new villages, but they don’t understand, don’t feel, don’t know what’s happening in the border area,” he said. “The Russians have started targeting towns much more aggressively."

Shelling has intensified at various points throughout the war, but this summer has been particularly trying. While the Russians previously relied on artillery, they now target Vorozhba with far more fearsome glide bombs, which he describes as “much worse.”

Although Oleksandr had the chance to work with psychologists at the camp and connect with other children, he stays in constant communication with his family. During a recent attack, his house was rocked by the blast waves of a bomb, causing a light fixture to fall from the ceiling.

His final year at his hometown school will largely be conducted online. Many residents have left the village this summer, but Oleksandr says his family isn't planning to leave just yet.

“We understand that if we leave now, we might have nothing to come back to,” he stated. His whole family, including his grandparents, still resides there, while his father has been deployed on the front lines since the beginning of Russia's full-scale invasion in February 2022.

“To me, my father is the most courageous person I know,” Oleksandr said. The war has changed him, he explained: He used to be more easygoing, but now he's become more withdrawn.

The war's impact is a constant source of anxiety, he shared. “It's on my mind every night before I sleep. I spend the entire day thinking about it, wondering what's next.”

Despite the turmoil, Oleksandr feels he is taking control of his life, focusing on his final year of school, preparing for entrance exams and choosing a university.

“I am confident that Ukraine will have a future, I will have a future, and I know that everything will be alright, but we need to get through these difficult times,” he said.

Sixteen-year-old Valerii Soldatenko still has visions of his hometown in the Luhansk region which he fled on Aug. 29, 2022, after living under Russian occupation for approximately six months.

“There are moments when I almost envision it before my eyes. I see familiar faces, I see those beautiful white hills,” Valerii said. His hometown, Bilokurakyne, located in the northern part of the Luhansk region, is currently under Russian control.

For him, education was a key reason he decided to leave. In August 2022, just before the new school year began, he fled because the Russian curriculum had been implemented.

“I really didn’t want to comply with the Russian education system,” he said. “So it was clear that I was the most vulnerable and could put my family in the most danger.”

His family settled near Kyiv, but Valerii still struggles to adapt. He yearns for his friends, the familiar landscapes of Luhansk and his old house — a handcrafted building of clay, hay, and chalk with a blue facade and white columns.

Among the few possessions he brought with him is a walnut shell from a friend, a treasured memento as time and distance make it harder to maintain contact.

“Before we left, we hoped to be back home by November or December, celebrating Christmas and New Year with family,” Valerii stated. “But as you can see, I’m here, not in my native village.”

He came to the camp to connect with other “witnesses of war,” seeking both reflection and understanding of how his peers in front-line areas are managing.

As he gears up for his senior year of high school, he's narrowing down his college choices, still unsure if he wants to pursue a career in journalism or history teaching.

“I would say that (the war) robbed me of my childhood, especially after I had to flee,” he said.

Kseniia Kucher, 16, dreams of her graduation day, envisioning a celebration or a journey with her classmates. But with schooling in the northeastern city of Kharkiv mostly online due to frequent Russian strikes, that may not be possible.

Her family has packed its “emergency bags” with essential items and documents but presently has no plans to leave.

“It’s truly difficult to go through, especially when the strikes happen at night. You literally wake up from being jolted in bed because of the explosions,” she said. “And yet, it’s easier because you’re still at home. You’re with your loved ones and not in an unfamiliar environment.”

At the camp, far from Kharkiv, Kseniia discovered an uncommon chance to unwind. “I even started having some dreams here,” she said.

She particularly treasured the late-night conversations with her peers, in which they shared their experiences and forged personal connections.

“I don’t have a large circle of friends, generally speaking. And now they’ve all dispersed," she reflected. When she’s at home, she tries not to linger on her prewar life but instead focuses on the present.

“I live in the present moment and don’t make elaborate plans for the future because, understanding the current situation ... I don’t know what will transpire in a year,” she said.

She resides with her mother and younger brother, while her father serves on the front lines. Kseniia gets to see him only once every few months.

As she spoke, the distant rumbles of thunderstorms kept distracting her with their eerie resemblance to explosions.

“It's a difficult time to be a teenager during a war,” she remarked. “You don't fully understand your emotions, and everything, from hurtful words to missile attacks, has an impact. It's hard to cope with that.”