It was a perfectly ordinary four-story building clad in gray tiles. Its plain, square shape seemed to emphasise its dullness.
During the war, a shell hit the house. It appeared to have failed to detonate, leaving only a hole on the second-to-last floor. From the street, you could now see into one of the apartments, revealing its simple interior.
All the windows in the house had been shattered by the blast waves. Some still had shards of glass, while others were gaping, empty. The residents hurriedly moved out of the building, where they could no longer shelter from the elements.
For a while, the house stood empty and abandoned. But within a few months, one of the residents returned. He looked to be around 50 years old and set to work restoring the house with enthusiasm. Later, I learned he had bought the entire building.
...
I occasionally saw him around. He would politely greet me and hurry along, carrying either planks, a bag of cement, or bricks.
Soon, the new owner patched up the gaping hole on the second-to-last floor, and the building regained its plain square shape.
But then something extraordinary happened...
One day, passing by the house, I noticed something unusual. One of the windows had been replaced with stained glass!
It wasn't a professional stained glass window but a random mosaic of coloured glass. It looked like an artist's palette, with no discernible pattern.
Gradually, all the windows of the house transformed into bright, colourful, joyful "eyes." The building began to stand out sharply among its gray, somber neighbours with their empty, black windows.
People passing by would stop, point, and some even gasped in surprise. It seemed that the stained-glass house awakened them from the grim reality of war.
...
One day, I was walking near the house and saw the tenant of that amazing building sitting on a bench. I sat down beside him and greeted him politely.
Unable to resist, I asked, "Excuse my curiosity, but what made you replace all the windows in the house with stained glass?"
He was silent for a long time. I had the impression that he didn't know the answer and was inventing it as he went along.
Then, slowly, word by word, he said, "These windows are like people who survived the war. They will never be the same. We all have to rebuild our lives from pieces. So let them be bright and important to us."
Those words made me think. Of course, everything had changed. We had begun to see the world differently, and the world had become different. Nothing would ever be the same.
Each of us is indeed piecing ourselves together from fragments of the past. Some of us are piecing together happy memories, while most of us are trying to rebuild from sorrowful ones. Some have lost homes, while others have lost loved ones...
He stood up and, without a word of farewell, walked toward his remarkable house.
And I looked at the stained-glass house differently. Now it seemed to me an image of what was happening around us, and each window was like a person who had managed to reassemble themselves from the happiest moments of the past, with the desire to keep living.
...
A few days later, a plaque appeared on the remarkable house, announcing that thanks to this man, a Children's Home for children orphaned by the conflict would open in the building.
A few days after that, the same man in his fifties, the owner of the stained-glass house, approached me. Judging by his clothing, shoes, and backpack, he was ready for a long journey.
He handed me an envelope, nodded, and headed toward the highway leading out of town. I watched him walk away until he disappeared down the street.
Inside the envelope was an invitation to the festive opening of the Children's Home in the stained-glass house. The ceremony was scheduled for the evening.
...
I sat in a hall full of adults and children. Looking into the children's faces, I noticed one common trait - an adult gaze. Losing their parents had left a profound mark on each of them.
The evening's host opened an envelope and read aloud a message from the person who had donated the building for the Children's Home:
"My daughter was 13 years old when a shell hit our home. Her name was Maria. She and her mother died instantly. I wasn't home at the time...
Maria always complained that our house was too gray and dreamed of bright colours. One day, she shared her wish with me - for all children to live surrounded by bright colours...
My wife and I were saving money for Maria's education, and when that lost its purpose, I decided to use those savings to buy the entire building and give it to the children. Let them see the world through colourful windows."
...
I was sitting on a bench across from the stained-glass house. It was already dark. I looked up at the house - each window glowed with bright colours. I watched this miracle, and tears rolled down my cheeks.
I understood that the former owner of the stained-glass house had found freedom - through this house, he had healed from the pain of losing his dearest loved ones and could move forward in life.
