In Tehran, the first thought that comes to Afra each morning is not about work or routine, but relief. Waking up under the fragile ceasefire between the United States and Iran, in force since 8 April, she repeats to herself: “Thank God, the war has not started again.” Her words capture a broader national sentiment of exhaustion and uncertainty, as ordinary Iranians try to rebuild fragments of daily life while living under the shadow of renewed escalation.
The report, published by El País, paints a portrait of a society trapped between geopolitical confrontation and economic collapse. Afra, 31, runs a small gym in Tehran, but her business—and her personal life—has been deeply destabilized by months of war, sanctions, and inflation. Before the conflict escalated on 28 February, she was already coping with the trauma of earlier protests and state repression linked to worsening economic conditions. Those pressures have only intensified, turning basic financial planning into what she describes as an impossible task. A car she once hoped to buy in installments, priced at 7,000 million rials in January, now costs more than double, placing it far beyond reach.
Across the Iranian capital, the sense of economic suffocation is widespread. Inflation has surged to extreme levels, with official figures cited in El País reporting a yearly rate of 53.7%, while prices rose by 73.5% in just the first month of the Iranian calendar after the war began. For many residents, these statistics translate into daily choices shaped by scarcity and uncertainty. Conversations about politics are often avoided or softened, with some interviewees refusing to give full names or speak on record due to fear of repercussions.
The war itself briefly forced Afra to close her gym between 10 and 23 March, cutting off her only source of income. When she reopened, many of her clients did not return. Airstrikes and the continued presence of foreign military aircraft over Tehran created an atmosphere of constant anxiety that discouraged people from resuming normal routines. Even now, she says, social life has changed dramatically. “We no longer go out or invite anyone home,” she explains. Instead, friends meet quietly after dinner, trying to avoid the financial burden of shared meals in a city where even simple food has become expensive. A meal that once cost the equivalent of about 10 euros now requires significantly more, reinforcing the sense that everyday life has become financially unsustainable.
The crisis has also accelerated digital isolation. Since the start of the war, Iranian authorities have restricted internet access across the country, citing security concerns. Many citizens rely on illegally supplied VPN services, but the cost has become prohibitive for most. Afra says she can no longer afford it, cutting her off from the main promotional tool for her gym: social media. For young entrepreneurs like her, the loss of connectivity is not only a personal inconvenience but an economic barrier that undermines entire livelihoods.
Moments of danger during the air campaign remain vivid in memory. Afra recalls a strike near her neighborhood that sent customers fleeing her gym in panic, some still partially dressed. In that instant, she says, she understood how completely the war could interrupt ordinary life without warning. The fear has reshaped behavior: gatherings are smaller, movements more cautious, and even leisure carries an undercurrent of anxiety.
Other Tehran residents interviewed by El País describe similar disruptions, particularly in housing, employment, and basic consumption. Rising prices have made even essential goods volatile. Hamidreza, who runs an online business, explains that staple products can change price overnight, making planning impossible. A bottle of cooking oil, he says, may cost 17 million rials one day and 18 million the next. Like many Iranians, he also lost reliable internet access during the conflict, preventing communication with partners abroad and creating a sense of total isolation. At one point, he and others even relied on international calls that frequently failed, leaving families uncertain about each other’s safety.
Public frustration is increasingly visible in private conversations, even if rarely expressed openly. Workers’ representatives quoted in El País warn that inflation is eroding wages faster than they can be adjusted. Calls for monthly salary revisions reflect the urgency of a crisis in which annual planning has become meaningless. At the same time, reports of job losses are rising, with employers citing war-related uncertainty, though labor officials note that economic instability predates the conflict.
In the streets of Tehran, however, daily life presents a paradox. Shops and cafés remain open, and many areas of the city appear outwardly normal. Yet that normality is punctured by visible scars of recent bombardments and by a psychological tension that never fully disappears. Political demonstrations in support of the Islamic Republic still occur, but they coexist with widespread private disillusionment and fatigue.
Arefeh, a 30-year-old jewelry designer, reflects this ambivalence. She describes the war as a conflict driven by political interests in which ordinary people are the ones who suffer the consequences. In conversations with her husband, she says, they sometimes try to distract themselves from fear by joking about incoming explosions or guessing the type of weapons being used. But beneath the humor lies a constant awareness of vulnerability and loss. She recalls stories of entire families destroyed in airstrikes, describing them as moments that intensified her sense of anger and helplessness.
Economic pressures have also forced Arefeh to close her workshop, while her husband’s studio has shut down as well. Both depend heavily on internet access and imported materials, making their professions particularly vulnerable to disruption. She notes that even precious metals used in her work have become prohibitively expensive since the war began, forcing her to rely on stockpiled materials purchased months earlier.
Meanwhile, broader geopolitical tensions continue to shape Iran’s economic outlook. The blockade of the Strait of Hormuz, combined with the US naval restrictions on Iranian oil exports, has deepened the country’s financial strain. For many citizens, however, macroeconomic strategy matters less than immediate survival. As Hamidreza puts it, fear of war has been replaced by the daily struggle to afford food.
Across these fragmented experiences, El País highlights a common thread: a population caught between external confrontation and internal hardship, where ceasefire brings temporary relief but not stability. Even as the guns fall silent, inflation, isolation, and uncertainty continue to define life in Tehran, leaving many Iranians suspended in a fragile and unresolved present.