On June 13, 2025, Israel launched air strikes on nuclear and army websites in Iran. Over the 12 days that adopted, the Israeli marketing campaign expanded to incorporate vitality and different infrastructure; Iran retaliated with drone and missile strikes inside Israel; and the US entered the battle with strikes on Iranian nuclear services on June 22. Alireza Iranmehr is a novelist and an essayist who lives within the north of Iran however returned to Tehran to witness and doc the bombardment. He despatched the next sequence of brief dispatches to his translator all through the battle.
June 16, 8:30 p.m.
The huge roundabout at Azadi Sq. was filled with vehicles, but nonetheless felt one way or the other abandoned. Then it dawned on me: People—they had been principally lacking. The place usually tens of hundreds of pedestrians thronged, now there have been solely a scattered few. Even lots of the vehicles sat empty.
Azadi Sq. is usually the primary place one sees upon arriving in Tehran and the final upon departure; a number of main expressways move by means of it, and it isn’t removed from Mehrabad Airport, which serves home flights. The airport reportedly had been bombarded a few days earlier than, however I couldn’t discern any signal of destruction from the place I stood—simply the scent of burned plastic chopping by means of the same old metropolis smog.
Earlier that day, in Bandar Anzali, on the Caspian shore, I had been fortunate to discover a cab driver keen to carry me all the best way to Tehran. The motive force advised me that he’d made the other journey with three younger girls in the course of the night time—and charged them 25 instances the going price. “You’ll be able to see what’s occurring,” he stated. “There’s no fuel. All of the vehicles are caught on the street. It is a five-hour journey, and it took us 15 hours.”
He wasn’t mendacity: The stream of vehicles attempting to get out of Tehran appeared infinite. Some autos had been stranded on the edges of the street, having run out of gasoline. Males banded collectively to maneuver enormous concrete obstacles out of the best way, in order that they might flip their autos round to go again into town. My driver pointed to the rear of his automobile and stated, “I had an additional 4 20-gallon cans of gasoline simply in case. I didn’t wish to get stranded.”
I requested why he didn’t simply keep in Bandar Anzali after dropping off the ladies.
“And keep the place? My spouse and youngsters are again in Tehran,” he stated. “And also you? Why are you going to Tehran?”
I needed to inform him that I used to be going again to Tehran to witness an important occasion in Iran’s latest historical past, in order that I might write about it. However that instantly appeared ridiculous and unbelievable. I stated as an alternative, “I’m going to see a few of my buddies.”
He nodded. “Watch out,” he stated, with a notice of suspicion. “There are plenty of spies round lately in Tehran.”
Was he suggesting that I may be a kind of spies? It rubbed me the flawed manner, however I didn’t say something.
Now, practically alone in the course of Azadi Sq., I used to be seized with doubt, after which worry. The streets and sidewalks appeared wider than earlier than, and newly ominous. I began to stroll towards Azadi Boulevard when an ear-splitting sound threw me instantly off stability.
I appeared up on the sky: Anti-aircraft hearth and tracers appeared, clusters of little dots that ascended after which became flashes of white. There was nothing else in that sky. No airplanes. Down the street, I noticed one other man standing, trying up with intense curiosity, as if mesmerized.
No sirens sounded. No crowds ran in search of shelter. There was solely the vacant expanse above, and an eerie noise just like the buzzing of flies after the anti-aircraft weapons went quiet. I’d heard someplace that this was the sound of Israeli drones looking for their targets. Someplace distant, an explosion boomed, after which got here the anti-aircraft hearth once more, even farther away.
Unusual to say, however my worry lifted. I felt calm as I headed for the house of a buddy on Jeyhoon Avenue—one who had determined to stay in Tehran and stated I might spend the night time. So I strolled, figuring out the sky would gentle up once more earlier than lengthy.
June 19
At 2 a.m., after a protracted break, explosions got here, one after one other. I had left Jeyhoon Avenue and was now staying with Mostafa and Sahar, two of my finest buddies, in an residence on the highest flooring of a constructing on the Ghasr Crossroad. This space of town was full of army and safety websites that made possible targets for bombardment.
Mostafa labored for the Tehran municipality. Sahar, after years of attempting, was lastly pregnant. Once I’d referred to as to ask if I might keep the night time, they had been delighted—eventually, firm of their anxiousness. They’d remained in Tehran as a result of Sahar had been prescribed strict mattress relaxation.
“If we keep, we could or could not get killed,” Mostafa advised me. “But when we go away, our little one will certainly not make it. So we’ve stayed.”
By 2:30 a.m., the sound of anti-aircraft hearth was relentless. I noticed a shadow shifting within the hallway: Mostafa. He requested if I used to be awake, then made for my window, opening it. Now the sounds had been exponentially louder, and a pungent odor of one thing burning entered the room. He’d are available right here to smoke a cigarette, and within the effort to maintain the smoke away from Sahar and their bed room, he had allowed the complete residence to be permeated by the scorching scent of conflict.
“Sahar isn’t afraid?” I requested him.
“Sahar is afraid of all the pieces for the reason that being pregnant,” he replied.
A flash brightened the sky, and some moments later, the sound of a distant blast swept over us. Mostafa left his half-smoked cigarette on the sting of the sill and hurried to verify on Sahar. I noticed a vivid orange flame to the east of us outdoors. Apropos of nothing, or all the pieces, I considered “The Wall,” Jean-Paul Sartre’s brief story set in the course of the Spanish Civil Struggle: A number of prisoners huddle in a basement, ready to be shot and questioning concerning the ache to return—whether or not it could be higher to take a bullet to the face or to the intestine. I imagined myself within the midst of that explosion, questioned whether or not shattered glass or falling metal beams and concrete could be what killed me.
Mostafa reappeared. I requested how Sahar was doing.
“She’s nonetheless studying,” he stated. “I believe it was the Tehranpars district they only hit.”
“No, it appeared to me prefer it was Resalat,” I stated. Then, after a pause: “You bear in mind how in the course of the conflict with Iraq, if anybody ever smoked in entrance of a window they’d say the man is suicidal? For years, my father had blankets nailed over all our home windows, to ensure our lights weren’t seen from outdoors.”
“They are saying the identical factor now,” Mostafa stated. “‘Don’t stand in entrance of home windows.’ However I believe it makes no distinction. The extra superior know-how will get, the much less room it’s a must to conceal. Window or no window means nothing.”
June 20
I’d imagined that getting inside Shariati Hospital with no press ID could be unimaginable. However as with nearly all the pieces else in Iran, entry was a matter of getting a contact.
The hallways had been full of injured individuals, workers working each which manner—multiple TV crew appeared completely misplaced on first coming into the constructing. At one level, somebody introduced that the hospital was full and must redirect the newly injured elsewhere.
I caught my head into rooms, as if in search of somebody I’d misplaced. That was believable sufficient below the circumstances that nobody paid me any thoughts. After some time, I started to really feel as if I actually had misplaced any individual. The hospital had turn into a subject of haphazard physique elements, the scent of Betadine infusing all the pieces.
A person sat fairly nonetheless within the hallway, most of his face seemingly gone and wrapped in gauze. One other man had misplaced a hand. He stared quietly on the ceiling with a unusually beatific look, as if his face was product of clay that was now drying with the impression of an previous smile that wouldn’t go away.
In a single room, a TV crew interviewed a lady. She described the second her residence exploded. First, she’d heard a number of blasts within the distance. She advised her husband and little one to get away from the window. Then a flash, and the complete constructing trembled. Their residence had been on the third flooring, however when she opened her eyes, she was within the first-floor parking zone. Rescue employees nonetheless hadn’t discovered a hint of her husband or little one. She started to cry, and I retreated again into the hallway, the place an previous man sat on his knees, praying. He was carrying a thick, black winter skullcap regardless of the warmth. He appeared up at me and stated, “Half the home is gone. The opposite half stays. My son and daughter-in-law had been within the different half.”
“Are all of them proper?” I requested him.
The previous man didn’t reply and went again to his praying. After some time, he began to weep. A half minute later got here the sounds of air defenses. A girl screamed, pointing on the window, whereas a number of others tried to calm her down.
Exterior, an ambulance wailed into the lot. Two days earlier, ambulances had been directed to show off their sirens in order to not add to the final anxiousness. However as we speak, the alarms had been again. I used to be in no particular hurry to get to my subsequent vacation spot, however one way or the other I discovered myself speed-walking, even working, towards the tackle.
The girl individuals had been calling the “cat girl” stood at her door, trying previous me as if right into a burning forest. I adopted her to the kitchen, the place she handed me a glass of lemonade. There needed to be a number of dozen cats in that home—possibly 60 or extra. The girl tiptoed amongst them like somebody strolling in a shallow pool of water. “Solely 12 are mine,” she stated. “The remaining—their homeowners have been dropping off right here the previous few days.”
“How come they don’t struggle with one another?” I requested. I’ve had my share of cats and know that they don’t readily share area with their very own sort.
She stated, “In regular instances, sure. They’d struggle. Nevertheless it’s as in the event that they know what’s occurring. Once they first get right here, they take one go searching after which discover a nook and sit quietly and wait.” Throughout explosions, the cats would huddle collectively or conceal below the furnishings.
I requested her whether or not she was additionally afraid. She smiled. “When it’s a must to care for this many cats, you don’t have time to be afraid.”
A tabby with large, orange eyes rubbed in opposition to her ankles. She bent down to select up the animal and caress it. Some individuals had deserted their home pets on the streets once they left town, she advised me. They’d little likelihood of surviving. She’d turn into the cat girl by posting an advert: For completely free, she was keen to care for anybody’s cat.
“My largest drawback proper now could be discovering sufficient litter and dry meals for them,” she advised me. “All of the pet outlets are closed. I attempt to give them moist meals that I prepare dinner myself. However plenty of them aren’t used to it and get diarrhea.”
She advised me that one pet-shop proprietor she knew had promised to return again to Tehran that night time with provides. I contemplated that as I completed a second lemonade: A pet-shop proprietor returning to Tehran below bombardment to ensure these cats have litter and meals.
Again outdoors, the sky was quiet. Transferring by means of the again alleys of the Yusefabad neighborhood, I discovered myself hurrying once more, though I had no thought why.
June 24
A seemingly steady flood of vehicles was returning to town. Right here and there, an anti-aircraft gun would go off for a second, however nobody appeared up on the sky anymore. Taxicabs had been nonetheless uncommon and really costly, however the metro and buses had been made free for everybody, in any respect hours.
I made a decision to go to my writer, Cheshmeh bookstore, on Karim Khan Avenue. My newest e book got here out only a month in the past, however the conflict froze all the pieces, e book launches particularly.
Cheshmeh had hung a white banner outdoors. It learn: Our shelter is the bookstore. The phrases gave me a heat feeling after days of worry. Inside, the shop smelled of paper. A number of of my previous author buddies had been there, amid a crowd speaking about politics.
A younger man with drained eyes was exhibiting his cellphone display screen to 2 others and saying, “Take a look at what they’re writing about me. ‘He’s within the regime’s pay.’ Take a look at all these horrible emojis and feedback. And why? Simply because I posted one thing saying, ‘I pity our nation and I’m in opposition to any foreigners attacking it.’”
“They write this form of rubbish about all of us,” a middle-aged man provided. “Don’t take it critically. For all we all know, they’re simply strain teams and bots.”
The younger man didn’t wish to hear it. “If I used to be within the pay of the federal government, don’t you assume I ought to personal a house by now at the very least? I’ve misplaced depend of what number of pages of my books they’ve censored over time. Folks like us, we take beatings from either side.”
A gray-haired girl with a blue scarf over her shoulders stated to him, “Do and say what you assume is true, my son. Some individuals wish to combine all the pieces collectively.” She had a kindly voice that appeared to calm the younger man down somewhat bit.
From behind me, somebody stated, “I worry this cease-fire is a hoax.”
One other voice replied, “No, it’s actually over. America entered to ensure they wrap it up.”
I purchased a newly translated e book by a Korean creator, chatted somewhat extra with buddies, and left, taking one final have a look at that miraculous white banner: Our shelter is our bookstore.
I had hardly slept for the reason that U.S. assault on Iran’s nuclear websites two days earlier. At my buddy Nasser’s home, in the course of the lengthy night time of explosions, I’d mounted my gaze on a small chandelier that by no means stopped quivering. The final night time of the conflict was absolutely the worst. Just a few hours after the world had introduced an imminent cease-fire, Nasser’s home windows had been open. The acquainted flash, the following rattle and jolt. Nasser ran out of the kitchen with moist fingers, shouting, “Didn’t the fools announce a cease-fire?”
The explosions got here in seemingly infinite waves. I used to be within the toilet when one shook the constructing to what felt like the purpose of collapse. The lights went out, and there was a sound of shattering glass. I noticed Nasser in the lounge. He was attempting to face up however couldn’t. That chandelier had lastly damaged into 100 little items. Nasser stated nothing, which was unusual. I turned on my cellphone’s flashlight and shone it at him. He didn’t look proper and saved his hand over the facet of his stomach. I turned the sunshine to that space and noticed blood.
“What occurred?”
“I’ve little items of glass inside me.”
“Now we have to go to the hospital.”
“We will’t go now. Let’s go sit below the stairway. It’s safer there.”
The constructing was empty. Everybody else appeared to have left town. Nasser couldn’t: He was {an electrical} engineer for the nationwide railway and needed to stay at his publish.
Beneath the steps didn’t really feel safer. The constructing was previous and flimsy. I had the sensation that yet another blast would ship the entire thing crashing down on us. I examined Nasser’s wound below the flashlight. It was about eight inches lengthy, however not very deep and never bleeding an excessive amount of. I closed my eyes and tried to think about that we had been some place else when, from outdoors, I began to listen to laughter and voices. I checked out Nasser to see whether or not I used to be imagining issues. His face was chalk white, however he, too, had heard them.
I opened the door to the surface. 4 youngsters had been standing proper there, in the course of the road, watching the fireworks within the skies over Tehran with pleasure. One of many boys was holding an enormous sandwich, and the ladies had been decked out within the regalia of younger goth and metallic followers the world over. If it hadn’t been for the sound of explosions, I might have imagined I’d been thrown into one other time and dimension altogether.
The youngsters appeared thrilled to have run into us. One of many boys requested, “What’s taking place, hajji?”
“My buddy’s been injured.”
“Harmful?”
“I’m unsure. I’m pondering I ought to take him to a hospital.”
“You need assistance?”
I backed Nasser’s automobile out of the storage. It was caked with mud and bits of chipped wall. The youngsters helped us, and two of them even volunteered to experience alongside to the hospital. The sounds of explosions retreated as we drove, however the silence that adopted was deep and one way or the other foreboding.
Nasser received stitched up pretty shortly. Daybreak gentle was filtering into the emergency-room ready space as we ready to go away, individuals murmuring to 1 one other that the cease-fire had begun. I appeared round for the youngsters who’d include us to the hospital. They had been gone. I thought of how, years from now, they’d assume again on that night time, and I questioned how their recollections would evaluate with Nasser’s and mine.
That was the final night time. Now, leaving the bookstore, I went to the bus terminal at Azadi Sq.. Tehran was again in full swing; coming and going had been simple too. I purchased a ticket to Bandar Anzali and, as I boarded, took one final have a look at the Azadi Sq. monument—a sublime testimonial to the lengthy struggling of contemporary Iran. The very subsequent day, June 25, the Tehran Symphonic Orchestra was set to carry a free live performance within the sq.. It was already arduous to consider that this metropolis had simply skilled a conflict.
*Picture-illustration by Jonelle Afurong / The Atlantic. Supply: PATSTOCK / Getty; duncan1890 / Getty; fotograzia / Getty; natrot / Getty; Morteza Nikoubazl / NurPhoto / Getty; Getty.