Hoda was so furious over Iran's violent crackdown on protesters in January that she wanted the country's security forces to be attacked as payback. Then the bombs began to batter areas near her Tehran home.
"I was always against these people and thought it would be limited and finished fast," she said of the U.S. and Israeli attacks. "I regret that and take it back. They are turning the country into ruins."
Hoda, 40, like others interviewed for this article, asked that only her first name be used out of fear of arrest or harassment from security forces.
Since the war started, the U.S. and Israeli military have targeted multiple locations across the country, but it is in Tehran, a bustling, densely packed metropolis of some 10 million people, where the strikes have been felt the most. As of Thursday, more than 1,200 people had been killed by Israeli and American strikes, according to the Iranian Red Crescent Society.
In addition to substantial damage to historical cultural sites in Tehran, like the ornate Golestan Palace, the targeting of oil facilities has added a surreal element to life in the capital, residents say, with thick smoke in the air and black rain coming down that has left a slimy residue on cars. Many people stay off the streets, where being stuck in two to three-hour traffic jams to cross the city was the norm before the war started.
Hoda lives with her 45-year-old brother, Hadi, and their elderly parents in a house in central Tehran. In recent days, the toxic fires from the bombings have left a weird smell and a greasy film on the windows, she said.
She is now worried about the long-term economic impact of the war. Her business — importing carpet-weaving machines — has been hit hard in the past year, she said, and even getting money for daily expenses has become a chore. Banks keep limited hours and ATMs have a daily withdrawal limit of 500,000 tomans, or roughly $3. Many people now just use debit cards where they can. Prices on basic goods have ramped up about 10% since the war started, residents say.
In the case of Hadi, who also asked to withhold his last name out of safety concerns, his tourism company folded after the war last summer, the protests and the persistent internet cuts in the past year. His 13-year-old daughter and his ex-wife have moved to the Caspian Sea coast in northern Iran, where many Tehran residents have fled in the last weeks, either to family homes or short-term rental properties. Hadi said he paid for his daughter to attend a private school but is now questioning his choice since she has not been able to attend for more than 100 days in this school year.
Hoda and her brother spend much of their day watching satellite news channels or checking news on the internet through a VPN for which they pay 3.8 million tomans, or approximately $23, per month.
Hoda said she has watched on satellite TV channels as members of the Iranian diaspora talk about the possibility of former Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi leading the country, but says they are out of touch with the realities on the ground.
"They don't have a sense of what it feels like when a jet is on top of your house and you think you are dead every day," she said.
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Not far away, Kianoosh, 46, said he was terrified and struggling to process the momentous change that could be coming to Iran after years of living under a strict theocracy. Several sports complexes and other areas near him in central Tehran were hit.
"We hear nonstop explosions," he said. "How long can this go on?"
Kianoosh, a documentary filmmaker, moved in with his parents after the war started to keep them safe. While there have been some power cuts, there is no sign yet of the massive blackouts and water shortages that plagued Tehran last year, he said. For him, daily life is an odd rhythm of boredom — he recently watched the film "Interstellar" to pass the time, he said — punctuated by explosions.
But Kianoosh frequently finds himself thinking about the millions of Iranians, an entire generation, that have been denied the chance to live an ordinary life. As much as he is concerned about the bombs, he said he also worries that both sides will declare victory and walk away, leaving the country in an uncertain limbo.
The projects he used to work on, like a documentary about rare Asiatic cheetahs in Iran, no longer seem possible with the chaos of two wars in less than a year and massive nationwide protests.
Kianoosh now lives off his savings and wonders how an economy that was already teetering will recover from the war. "Normal life has slipped away," he said.
Concerns about the economy also loom large on Amin, a 42-year-old café owner, even though his business is booming for now.
The start of the war coincided with Ramadan, a time when many Iranians, religious or not, use the monthlong observance as an excuse to meet with family and friends after sunset.
Amin's café has turned into a hangout spot where people come to discuss the war and smokeqalyoonwater pipes. Authorities have not been harassing him about men and women mixing in the café, which stays open until around 2 a.m.
During the day, Amin and his wife walk in a nearby park and fret about the country and the economy.
"We're not rich," he said. "If this drags on, we will have issues."
