A young couple in Ukraine delighted in first love. Then the war came for them

Alyona Zavadska, 16, cries near the coffin of her boyfriend Danylo Khudia, 17, killed in a Russian strike on April 24, during a farewell ceremony at the crematorium in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Monday, April 28, 2025. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka, File)

They met in a park on a winter’s day in Kyiv. The teenage girl was a manicurist. The boy delivered food. Like their battered country, they had larger dreams. A doctor, an engineer.

But first, marriage. Danylo Khudia, 17, told Alyona Zavadska’s mother he planned to propose to her 16-year-old daughter this summer as a surprise on her birthday. They wanted to tie the knot when she turned 18.

The intensity of their connection baffled their parents, but they came around.

“We knew that they are just kids, but we could see they could handle themselves,” said Zavadska’s mother, Oksana.

As Ukraine’s war with Russia roiled around them, Khudia told Zavadska he felt calm and peaceful around her. He called her “my baby girl.” She called him “my boy.”

A close friend of Khudia’s, Danylo Bondarchuck, recalled how his eyes shone the first time he mentioned Alyona. “I have the most beautiful girlfriend,” he said.

The couple were inseparable. Zavadska cheered Khudia in his basketball games and encouraged him as he pursued his driver’s license. She helped him study for exams and consoled him when he mentioned being cheated in a money-making scam.

When Zavadska expressed interest in tattoo art, Khudia agreed to be her guinea pig. She tattooed him with an alien, a scorpion, a design of the moon.

Zavadska opened up, too. She told Khudia she had an eating disorder. He helped her overcome it.

“She didn’t believe she was beautiful,” her mother said. “He made her believe she is.”

In recent weeks, as the U.S. pressed for peace talks, the couple found an apartment a few blocks from Zavadska’s parents. They opened a bank account and prepared to build a life.

But they could never hide from war.

Six months ago, Zavadska had dreamed Khudia’s house would be destroyed in a missile strike. It was eerie, but she thought no more of it.

On Thursday night, Zavadska had a terrible feeling but couldn’t explain why. She hugged Khudia tight for 10 minutes and told him to update her every hour until he went to sleep.

Air sirens blared at 1 a.m., and she texted him to ask if everything was OK. There was no reply. She waited out the alert in a nearby basement.

In the morning, Khudia’s best friend called. Khudia’s house had been hit by a Russian missile. His remains had been found. He had died instantly. His parents were also killed. His sister was pulled from the rubble alive.

There were no obvious military targets in the neighborhood. A military registration and enlistment office was nearby but typically empty at night. Top-secret weapons production facilities and other targets are known to be in various parts of Kyiv, and Russian missiles are rarely precise.

The attack killed 13 people and brought a rare reproach from U.S. President Donald Trump, who urged Russian President Vladimir Putin “to stop shooting, sit down and sign a deal.”

On Monday, Zavadska said goodbye.

She knelt before Khudia’s coffin, shaking with grief, until mourners urged her away. Her mother supported her slender frame. Loved ones piled flowers on the closed casket until they overflowed.

“He was the most precious thing I have ever had,” Zavadska said.

The couple’s families met for the first time at the funeral. Khudia’s grandmother saw the girl, her fingers pressed against the boy’s portrait, and knew.

“You are Alyona? Aren’t you?” she called out.

Khudia has appeared in Zavadska’s dreams since the day after he was killed, weeping by her feet. Sleep eludes her, her mother said: “She is terrified of it.”

In a park gazebo where the couple liked to sit together, Zavadska looked at photos. In one, the couple is kissing, Zavadska’s long, glossy hair obscuring Khudia’s face.

She now speaks in a whisper barely audible above the rustling of leaves. She says part of her is gone. Her mother, feeling powerless, worries her daughter won’t survive her grief.

“His hugs were so warm,” Zavadska said.

“We were waiting for the summer so much. We had so many plans.”

Associated Press journalists Alex Babenko and Vasilisa Stepanenko contributed to this report.

Samya Kullab, Yehor Konovalov And Evgeniy Maloletka, The Associated Press