A piercing gust of wind violently shook the plants that sat on the balcony. The splatters of rain started leaking into our home and bhabi ran with her old kameez to clean the mess. "Let's hope the weather will stop the firing tonight" Bhabi muttered as she squeezed out the rain water into the sink. I got up from the ground and walked to the balcony door. The crescent moon was glowing, tucked in the raven sky. Less than a month ago I remember gazing joyfully at the moon, my only worry being which Sari I was going to buy or what I was going to name my baby but now that all feels pathetic. We're lucky our village hasn't been greatly affected by the war but soon they'll move from Dhaka and go somewhere else to attack. How long will this war last? I rub my hand over my belly, I can only hope by the time my baby enters the world this will all just be moments of the past.