TEHRAN — It was just after 3 a.m. when a terrifying explosion shattered Tehran’s quiet night. A massive blast echoed through the streets of Patris and Abshuri in West Tehran. In an instant, the high-rises and homes shook, windows shattered, and terrified people poured into the streets, disoriented and frantic. Flames burst forth everywhere, lighting up Tehran’s darkness, while thick smoke filled the air.
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We stood in total shock, utterly unsure what was happening in our city—until the morning sun rose. We saw rescue workers fully immersed in their tasks, racing against time to save anyone they could, extinguish fires, and evacuate residents. They cordoned off bombed streets with yellow tape.
One woman in the neighborhood said, panicked, “We never thought war would come so close… that it would be this real.” Around her, small groups of residents stared in sorrow at the rubble that had been their homes only hours before.
Something terrible
I overheard a man on Shadmehr Street saying the blast was so close and powerful, he initially thought Judgment Day had come, only to quickly realize, “something terrible is happening.” An elderly man, sitting at a corner, remarked, “I heard an important government official used to live in that building, but I don’t believe it… only the poor live here.”
I moved from corner to corner, and with each face I encountered came more stories of fear, confusion, and shock.
We’re ordinary people: we don’t own weapons, and now we have nowhere to live. We have nothing but our prayers.
From a distance, I saw a woman with bandages on her face. I greeted her and congratulated her on being safe. Calm but deeply sorrowful, she told me, “We’re ordinary people: we don’t own weapons, and now we have nowhere to live. We have nothing but our prayers.”
One resident pointed at a collapsed house and said the neighbors barely escaped. They had left the day before the airstrikes. He repeated, “Thank God, thank God. If they had been here, they’d all be dead.” He gestured again at the ruined home: “Look, the house is now just a pile of shattered stones.” A tear-streaked young man then pointed to another building and said, “They’ve pulled five bodies from under that rubble so far… but maybe there’s still one more. People died in their sleep.”
Memories under debris
The smell of burning permeated every street: charred flesh, gunpowder, black dust, melted plastic. Chaos reigned: shattered glass, scattered food scraps, broken furniture, spoons, tables, colored curtains, a scorched blanket, books, backpacks, all memories now buried under debris, as if returning to the dust like all things.
I spoke with a firefighter who had been on site since dawn. His eyes were heavy and his voice hoarse as he spoke of a 22-year-old reservist soldier who had come home this night for a monthly leave, but whose body was found under the rubble. “A young life cut short,” he said, describing more bodies he had pulled from burning wreckage. “We found a mother and daughter embracing, only their upper bodies remained.” He added, “We also found an elderly man’s phone amidst the debris. I thought he might still be alive, until hours later, I found his remains.”
The target might have been a government official hiding in the area. “I heard neighbors whisper his name.”
A young man told me that the target might have been a government official hiding in the area. “I heard neighbors whisper his name,” he said, pointing to a house. “They say it belongs to al-Faqari.” But no one is certain here.
This is war
After the strike, an ambulance quietly entered the alley. Medics recovered a body and whisked it away, then retreated just as discreetly. Tension then gripped the neighborhood, and security forces sealed off the area, forbidding photography.
I never expected our generation would actually live through war… but here it is, happening right in our homes, and we’re witnessing it with our own eyes.
By a cracked wall stood a young paramedic, staring at a stain of blood on the pavement, tired, silent after hours of searching through charred bodies and debris. He told me, “I never expected our generation would actually live through war… but here it is, happening right in our homes, and we’re witnessing it with our own eyes.” He took a small bite of his sandwich, eyes still fixed on the bloodstain.
This is war… it has reached our homes in Tehran without warning. These people don’t know why. It doesn’t matter why. They are simply paying the price.
