We’re sitting in the kitchen. I’m cutting apples. My boyfriend Maks is making the dough for an apple pie. It’s a rare moment of domestic normalcy when you’re dating a serviceman, the kind that invites conversations about the future.

But then he punctuates it: “... If I don’t die.”

That phrase often slithers into our conversations about the future — about marriage, about buying a house, even into his silly promises to try and make me like snow (by taking me sledding after the war). A year and a half into my relationship with a serviceman, even the most ordinary plans come with that merciless condition attached.

Nonetheless, sometimes this dreary sentiment transforms into something unexpectedly encouraging. “So, you found a new job, and I transferred to another unit. Things are going to be stressful, but the most important thing is to survive, right?”

Ukrainian society has grown familiar with certain narratives about relationships with military servicemen: long-term couples separated by mobilization, or relationships that begin and exist almost entirely long-distance. Online, some women have sparked controversy by saying they wouldn’t date soldiers because of uncertainty.

Less visible are relationships that fall somewhere in between — those that begin shortly before enlistment and develop in fragments, shaped by brief visits, Zoom calls, and constant uncertainty.

Relationships during the war exist in this foggy space, marked by somewhat-rushed intimacy, hazy plans, and a future that’s always spoken of with that “if” in mind. The uncertainty of war spreads far beyond geopolitics to a question that is almost pedestrian in a non-war setting: when to love and commit.

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