The Window Opposite

By Kathrin Franziska Beck

Wednesday 18 February 2026

It is a freezing cold evening in Ivano-Frankivsk. I am standing by a window in a corner room of a hotel, looking out onto the street. Long before the curfew begins, this neighbourhood lies eerily dark; all the streetlights have gone out due to a power cut. Only rarely do passing cars illuminate the area; without them, it would be easy to forget you are in a city of more than 230,000 inhabitants.

From another window, I am looking directly at an apartment building. Only one room is clearly lit, while two other windows are minimally bright. Everything else around is pitch dark. I immediately start turning off most of the lights in my room. I do not want the people in the apartment building opposite to see that I have electricity. I do not want them to see that I am better off.

Inside my room, the heat is oppressive. The temperature cannot be turned down manually, and I am ashamed to feel warm, almost sweating. I have to throw open the window to cool the space, fully aware that the people opposite must be freezing. Yet as soon as I do, an unbearable smell from the electricity generators drifts inside. I notice how my hair smells like diesel.

Having warmth and light is not something to be taken for granted. Cold is a theoretical construct until you feel it.