The scent of saffron once again fills the aisles of Tehran’s Tajrish bazaar, where life appears to be back to normal almost two months after the conflict with Israel ended.
The capital's jammed streets, bustling malls, reopened cafes and renewed festivals paint a picture of recovery. Yet, under the surface, Iranians are grappling with jitters of a conflict that could reignite at any moment.
“Yes, things are very much normal. We travel, we work, and listen to music. But every day I check the news with my heart in my throat,” Fereshteh Naeemi, a 34-year-old shopkeeper in the Tajrish bazaar, told The National.
“One day Israel threatens; the other day Iran says something. I try to stay away from the news, but it's inevitable. Everyone's talking about it. We live with this stress every day.”
Iranians are not only faced with the continuous war of words between Israel and Iran, but also the economic pressures and security reshuffles that reflect Tehran’s efforts to regroup and prepare for a possible return to fighting.
Meanwhile, the country's leadership is doing everything to project normality. State broadcaster IRIB has dropped its wartime analysis shows and resumed routine programming. The supreme leader’s latest address was delivered standing – rather than seated as usual – to symbolise resilience and survival.
And perhaps most strikingly, the absence of morality police on the streets is seen as an attempt to rally different voices under the banner of national unity.
But to many Iranians, these moves feel staged.
'It feels like the 1980s'
When Iranians woke up on June 13 to huge blasts in the heart of Tehran – scenes they had only seen in Syria, Lebanon and Gaza – they concluded it was finally Iran’s turn.
Israel, which for years had branded Iran as the “head of the snake” of the so-called Axis of Resistance, had unleashed its strikes. It was over, many thought.
Iran was caught off guard – not just its air defences, but people’s psyche and above all, the economy. Prices skyrocketed. Food inflation surged by 50 per cent, and some items, including bottled water, vanished off supermarket shelves as families scrambled to flee big cities, especially Tehran.
The government moved quickly to stabilise prices and prevent unrest. It worked, and the focus rapidly shifted back to the war itself.
Fast-forward to after the war, as Tehran's residents trickled back and were confronted by new prices. Bread and rice had doubled, gold soared, and the rial collapsed past 900,000 to the US dollar.
Meanwhile, property sales across the capital slumped amid fears that the conflict would resume.
“It feels like the 1980s again,” Hossein Javanzadeh, a 63-year-old taxi driver who remembers the Iran-Iraq war, told The National. “Back then, too, everyone stopped buying houses. All they wanted was dollars and gold. It’s the same now. Nobody knows what's coming next.”
Iran’s nuclear policy reflects the same duality. Its leaders maintain deliberate ambiguity – projecting their programme's resilience while simultaneously signalling an openness to dialogue.
Military reshuffle
Deep underground, uncertainty is even greater. Key atomic sites, including Natanz with its 60 per cent enrichment capacity and the heavily fortified Fordow facility, were struck by Israel and the US. While surface damage is visible in satellite imagery, the impact on underground infrastructure remains unclear.
Iran and the US agree that the strikes slowed enrichment, but Iran says it had removed its 400kg of highly enriched uranium beforehand. Since the end of the conflict, no media, even state outlets, have been allowed access to the underground facilities.
Observers say this “strategic ambiguity” allows Iran to shield itself from war while keeping diplomacy on the table.
“Iran’s playing a skilful game of shadowboxing with its nuclear plans,” Iran-based journalist and commentator Amir Jaber says. “It talks about surviving the strikes but hides its wounds, telling the West: 'Come talk, but don’t expect to peek inside yet.'
“It buys Tehran time to rebuild and maybe push its nuclear programme further, but it’s risky. If Israel and the US think Iran’s too close to dangerous enrichment levels, they might skip talks and decide to strike again.”
In the wake of unprecedented losses among Iran's top brass, the fiery anti-Israeli speeches once delivered by commanders have fallen silent, giving way to a new rhetoric that mixes defiance with pragmatism.
Tehran has also moved to reshuffle its command structure. The creation of a Supreme National Defence Council, chaired by President Masoud Pezeshkian, shows that Iran’s security architecture needed reshaping. The decision to reappoint Ali Larijani as head of the Supreme National Security Council further underscores a push for synergy in command should war reignite.
Overall, Iran's military movements are silent, but they carry the unmistakable scent of war, which is detected not only on military bases but also mingles in the saffron-scented streets of Tehran.
“We must be prepared at every moment for confrontation. Right now, we are not even in a ceasefire [agreement]; we are in a cessation of hostilities,” said First Vice President Mohammad Reza Aref this week.
