South China Morning Post
On most nights, the sound that defines Tehran is not conversation or traffic. Instead, it is a distant explosion, a jet overhead, a pause in the rhythm of ordinary life. A few days ago, that distance collapsed. An explosion in eastern Tehran, where I live, shattered the windows of our home. Glass fell across my books and laptop, damaging it beyond repair. For a moment, the abstract language of conflict became immediate and physical. And yet, almost as quickly, life resumed. The city has not...
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