It was a September morning, with the fog playing games on the human rags that arrived in Thessaloniki in crowds. Along with them was Andriani. Everything around her seemed like a nightmare, a nightmare that unfortunately had become reality. Piled on top of each other, exhausted, hungry, dirty, the refugees waited for their homeland – the one for which they had lost everything – to take care of them.

Andriani did not know anyone around her. Only misery and pain made her a companion to these people, who silently, with clenched lips, waited resignedly on the platform. Children with wide, tearful eyes, sucking their fingers in a desperate attempt to feel the safety of their previous life again, and others holding tightly to their mother’s or grandmother’s dress, men and women, old women and old men with blurred gazes.

These were her friends, with whom she would now coexist. She had left everything behind and the only thing left to her were her memories. Only she did not want to dwell on them. She numbed her mind and heart to endure.