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Amir is one of several Iranians I spoke with over the past year. Their views varied significantly. This is his. Amir woke up to the sharp scratch on his foot. “It’s just thunder, be quiet.” He shooed Filakas away. The dalmatian didn’t; kept whining, kept scratching. It was strange to have a thunderstorm in Tehran in midsummer, especially with so many roars. He got up and pushed the heavy curtain to a side. From his twentieth-floor apartment window he always admired the spar

“They are planning to discharge me tomorrow, Insha’Allah.” Maman is wearing a green surgical cap and a pink hospital gown. Her face is tired and her voice shaky, but she keeps the smile on, as always. This was ten days ago. Nearly eighty, she had just undergone an operation for what doctors fear is cancer. Since then: radio silence. Maman used to send me a steady stream of Quranic recitations and warnings about Western imperialism. Even though they were a nuisance that trigge

Coming out… It feels like a lifetime of waiting, no matter when you do it — at fifteen or fifty. There is usually a rumble before an...

It happened. Israel and Iran went to war. An event long talked about, imagined, dreaded, but still unthinkable when it finally occurred....