The tragedy of Iryna Zarutska, a 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee brutally killed on a Charlotte train in August 2025, has left a wound that refuses to heal. Stabbed three times from behind on the Lynx Blue Line, her senseless death at the hands of a repeat offender sparked outrage, grief, and questions about safety for immigrants chasing the American dream. But a chilling discovery weeks later has deepened the mystery, sending shockwaves through her community and beyond. A maintenance worker, cleaning the train’s carriage, found Iryna’s notebook tucked beneath seat 27B, where she took her final breaths. On the last page, under a smudged pizza receipt from her shift at Zepeddie’s, two words screamed in capital letters: “DON’T WAIT.” What did Iryna mean? Was it a desperate plea, a final regret, or a cryptic message meant for someone she loved? As the world grapples with her loss, this haunting find unveils a story of courage, dreams, and a warning that refuses to be ignored.
Iryna’s journey was one of defiance against the odds. Born in Kyiv, she was an artist with a degree in Art and Restoration, her hands always busy with sketches or handmade gifts for her family. When Russia’s invasion shattered Ukraine in 2022, Iryna fled with her mother, sister, and brother, leaving her father behind due to martial law. Landing in Huntersville, North Carolina, with her uncle’s family, she embraced her new life with fervor. By day, she studied English at a community college; by night, she slung pizzas at Zepeddie’s, saving for a car to claim her slice of freedom. Her boyfriend, Stas Nikulytsia, was her rock, their love a bright spot in the chaos of displacement. Together, they moved into a NoDa apartment, filling it with laughter, art, and dreams of a future unmarred by war. Social media captured her spirit—selfies with Stas, goofy pool party dances, a Facebook post from August 13, 2025, captioned, “Charlotte, you’re my hope.” But hope turned to horror on August 22, when Decarlos Brown Jr., a 34-year-old with a rap sheet, attacked her on the train, stealing her life in a four-minute frenzy.
The notebook’s discovery, weeks after the crime scene was cleared, feels like a whisper from beyond. The maintenance worker, a veteran cleaner named Marcus Tate, found it wedged in the seat’s crevice during a routine sweep in September. “I almost threw it out,” he later told colleagues, mistaking it for trash. But the worn leather cover, embossed with a sunflower—Iryna’s favorite—caught his eye. Inside were sketches of Kyiv’s golden domes, doodles of mushrooms (her quirky obsession), and journal entries in Ukrainian, chronicling her fears and joys. The final page stopped him cold: a crumpled Zepeddie’s receipt, stained with what tests later confirmed was her blood, and those two words in bold, shaky capitals: “DON’T WAIT.” Handed to police, the notebook was returned to Stas, who clutched it like a lifeline, tears streaming as he read her last thoughts. The words have since ignited a firestorm of speculation. Was Iryna urging herself to seize the day? Warning Stas about something unspoken? Or addressing her family, still fractured by war’s cruel borders?
The context of that fateful night offers clues but no answers. Iryna had worked a double shift, texting Stas at 8:45 p.m. to say she was boarding the train. Surveillance footage shows her sitting in 27B, earbuds in, scrolling her phone—perhaps drafting the very note found later. Brown, seated behind her, struck without warning, his knife plunging into her back as passengers froze. Her struggle was brief but fierce, her eyes searching for help that never came. The notebook, likely slipped from her bag in the chaos, became a silent witness. Stas believes “DON’T WAIT” was personal, tied to their talks about marriage. “She kept saying we had time,” he shared in a raw Instagram post, his voice breaking. “Maybe she knew we didn’t.” Her mother, Olena, offers another theory: Iryna, haunted by her father’s absence, might have been urging her family to reunite. “She always said, ‘Don’t wait for peace—live now,’” Olena sobbed at a vigil.
Online, the phrase has taken on a life of its own. X users have turned #DontWait into a rallying cry, with thousands sharing stories of seizing the moment in Iryna’s honor. A mural in NoDa, crowdfunded by Ukrainian expats, depicts her with a sunflower and those words, a testament to her enduring spirit. Yet, the mystery persists. Was “DON’T WAIT” a spur-of-the-moment scrawl, written as she sensed danger? Her journal’s earlier entries hint at unease—mentions of “weird looks” on the train, a fear of being followed. Some speculate she sensed Brown’s threat, her words a plea to act, to flee, to live. Others see it as a universal mantra, a young woman’s realization that life, especially for a refugee, is too fragile to postpone.
The broader fallout of Iryna’s death amplifies the weight of her final words. Her killer’s release on cashless bail months earlier has fueled protests, with Charlotte’s mayor and North Carolina’s governor vowing reforms. Stas, now a vocal advocate, channels his grief into pushing for safer public transit. But the notebook’s discovery has shifted the narrative, making Iryna not just a victim but a voice. Her best friend, Sasha Kovalenko, who flew from Kyiv to comfort Stas, sees it as her final gift. “She was telling us to keep going,” he posted, holding her sketches aloft. “Don’t wait to love, to fight, to dream.” As her family scatters her ashes in the Catawba River, echoing Kyiv’s Dnipro, “DON’T WAIT” resonates as a call to action—a reminder that even in tragedy, Iryna’s courage endures, urging us all to live fiercely, now.
