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In Bobryk, a village in northern Sumy region — not far from the front line — one school moved its so students, whose education had already been impacted due to COVID lockdowns, could learn in person.

“We must do everything so this generation is not lost,� the principal Oleksii Korenivskyi said. “Time is the only thing you cannot make up. This is our future, and we must give it everything we have.�

The school was moved underground two years ago when air raid alerts sometimes stretched to 20 hours, paralyzing classes. The only option was to take cover and, while hiding from possible explosions, to keep studying.

Now, in a basement of an administrative building never meant to be a school, classrooms line the narrow space, some divided only by sheets of heavy plastic. There are no windows or doors. During lessons, the children’s voices blend together in a chorus.

On Monday, many arrived in embroidered traditional shirts, vyshyvanka. Teachers’ desks were loaded with fresh flowers that children brought for them as a traditional gift for the start of the year.

“Unfortunately, this ‘neighbor’ isn’t going anywhere,� said Oleksii, referring to Russia, when describing how much had to be done to make it happen and that it was worth it.

The once damp and dark basement was refurbished with ventilation, electricity and new flooring.

It is just one example of how Ukrainians are adapting to keep life moving with no end in sight to Russia’s grinding assault.

Bobryk, with a population of about 2,000, has a small school with classes of about 10 children each. This year, only seven sat in the first-grade room.

During the first lesson, the teacher opened a textbook to a map of Ukraine. It showed the country whole, without marks of occupied territories. She pointed north to the Sumy region, where Bobryk lies.

“Our region is next to Russia,� she said. “That’s why it’s so hard, why they bomb us so often — because we are close to this difficult neighbor.�

The school currently has just over 100 students, though about 10% have left since Russia’s full-scale invasion, and more continue to depart. For a school this small, each loss is felt.

Among those preparing to leave is Vlada Mykhailyk, 15, who will soon move to Austria with her 11-year-old brother. Their mother decided conditions have become too dangerous.

“We live well, but sometimes it’s sad. We often hear Shaheds (drones) and explosions,� Vlada said. Learning underground has become routine, she added. “If you have to choose between online or in the basement, the basement is better.�

She admits she is reluctant to leave the city and would rather finish school with her friends.

In one of the junior classrooms, war was not the first topic on the first day. When the teacher asked what students what they had done over the summer, the replies were refreshingly normal — bike rides, helping parents, time with new friends. Then, a small voice from the third grade, added: “A Shahed drone was intercepted above us and there were fragments.�

“All this is because of the war,� the teacher answered gently.

Because the basement is small, the school runs in two shifts, with shortened breaks. The original schoolhouse — a beautiful early 20th-century building — now sits empty, its spacious classrooms waiting for students to return when security situation improves.

Eva Tui, aged 7, was starting her third year in a classroom underground. She remembers her former classroom just 400 meters away, which was warmer in winter and cosier.

“We’re here because it’s wartime and there are a lot of sirens,� Eva said, adding that she had been awake the night before with excitement at the start of the new school year.

Eva said her wish for the year is simple: “To go back to the classroom. It feels more like home.�

Her bigger dream: “For the war to end.�