In this episode, we hear from Ramin, a 32-year-old journalist in Tehran.

He recorded his voice during the height of the war, as bombs fell, the internet went dark, and the city emptied out. His girlfriend and friends had fled. Tehran, he says, felt ghostlike.

Later, we check in with him again days after the ceasefire. He is relieved but uncertain, and trying to find his footing.

Ramin offers a rare, personal reflection on what it felt like to live through those days of silence, fear, and solitude.

That’s who she was thinking about as bombs fell on Tehran.

In this episode, we hear from a woman in her thirties who didn’t flee the capital during the war.

Instead, she stayed—caring for her infant child and her cat, listening to the sounds of explosions, unsure what would happen next.

This is a short, raw voice message recorded days before the ceasefire.

A quiet reflection on fear, survival, and the small things we try to protect when everything feels uncertain.

She speaks with remarkable honesty about fear, identity, and the mental toll of living through uncertainty. Her voice trembles with emotion, but also carries a quiet strength.

Recorded on Friday night, June 20, just one week after the attacks began, this message captures what it means to live through a moment when everything feels like it's unraveling.

This is one of many stories—intimate, human, unfiltered—that we’ll be listening to on Voices of Iran.

It began with a need to listen to real voices, of real humans, living inside Iran during a time of war, fear, and disconnection.

This isn’t a news show. It’s a space to share fragments of lived experience, one story at a time.

I reflect on my hopes for the podcast, the questions I’ve been asking myself, and the importance of hearing from people beyond the headlines.

Thanks for being here.