by Xinhua writer Shadati
TEHRAN, March 3 (Xinhua) -- Missiles fell like falling stars, slicing through the darkness before detonating with a force that made the night flinch. The blasts were so violent that they seemed to split the sky at its seams.
Windows shuddered. Walls groaned. For a moment, I was certain my apartment building had taken a direct hit.
It was 8:30 p.m. on Sunday, and Tehran, where I have worked and lived for years, was once again reeling under strikes by the United States and Israel.
Throughout the day, explosions rolled in waves. When I cracked open a window, and the smell of scorched metal and dust rushed in, sharp enough to sting my eyes.
Above, Israeli fighter jets screamed across the sky. Iran's air-defense systems responded with sharp, percussive bursts. The two sounds tangled into a brutal duet of attack and interception.
Just days earlier, Washington and Tehran had wrapped up a third round of nuclear talks in Geneva, with another session already on the calendar.
Iranian negotiators had spoken of "good progress." Just as the Iranians were eagerly awaiting a potential breakthrough that might finally ease the economic weight of years of U.S. sanctions, U.S. bombs arrived first.
At first, Tehran did not panic. This was, after all, a city that had already faced its enemies before. Last June, Israel and the United States carried out what became known as the "12-day war," killing several senior Iranian officials and bombing the country's nuclear facilities.
This latest assault, despite its increased intensity, initially felt like more of the same.
In downtown Tehran, traffic still coursed through the boulevards. At neighborhood cafes, men leaned back in their chairs, talking politics over small cups of coffee.
A local friend texted me the day the strikes began: "Don't be afraid, my friend. We always knew this was coming."
The true shock came before dawn on Sunday, when official channels confirmed that Iran's supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, had been killed in the attacks.
After years in Iran, I know well that opinions about the supreme leader have long varied among ordinary people. Yet whatever their differences, the killing of Khamenei, a man who had led the country for nearly four decades, struck something deeply personal.
For many Iranians, it was a blow to the heart -- a moment of profound shock that transcended politics.
On state television, an anchor broke down while announcing Khamenei's death, covering his face as his voice trembled.
"They have burned the heart of the Iranian people," Ali Larijani, secretary of Iran's Supreme National Security Council, said in an interview.
Shortly after the confirmation, I stepped into the streets. Strikes were still rumbling in the distance, but people were pouring out of their homes. In ones and twos, then in steady streams, they made their way toward the highly symbolic Enghelab Square to mourn.
Along Enghelab Street, grief was etched plainly on faces. Some walked in silence, tears slipping down unchecked. Others called out Khamenei's name in hoarse voices.
On the sidewalks, mourners crouched by the curb, shoulders shaking. Even with explosions echoing across the city, the crowd pressed forward, drawn by something larger than fear.
"They wanted to do this," a man named Mojaveri told me, of the United States and Israel, his voice breaking as he spoke of the United States and Israel. "We were aware of their cruelty and ruthlessness, just as we were on the first day when they attacked the girls' school."
On Saturday, a girls' school in Iran's southern province of Hormozgan was bombed in Israeli and U.S. strikes, leaving at least 165 people killed and 95 others wounded.
"They killed our leader," wailed a middle-aged woman, who gave her name as Fattahi. "They reach for force as if it were second nature. They think they can strong-arm other nations into submission. They're wrong. We stand by our country. Come what may."
As I was about to leave, another explosion rolled across the city, low and heavy, like distant thunder, briefly drowning out the chants.
On my way back to the apartment, thick plumes of smoke rose from several directions, dark columns twisting into a pale sky.
In the taxi, the driver shook his head, his face clouded with sorrow. "Tehran used to be a peaceful city," he said quietly. "These past two days have shattered some people's illusions."
"Some thought the Americans would bring opportunity," he continued. "Look at what they've brought -- nothing but bombs."
By Monday, according to the Iranian Red Crescent Society, more than 550 people had been killed in the joint U.S.-Israeli airstrikes.
Deep into the night, a new wave of explosions tore across central Tehran -- back to back and relentless, rattling windows and sending tremors through the concrete bones of apartment blocks.
The city, awash in grief, continues to endure. ■
