This is the Guardian.

Today, inside Iran as the bombs fall.

... And Saturday morning, you know, you get up and suddenly my, you know, my phone was blowing up with friends and family saying it started.

It's just started. And, you know, you didn't need to say anything more.

For the past week, Sanam Nagari Andalini,

like millions of Iranians living outside their country,

has found herself split into,

existing in some kind of shadow world.

She gets up and she goes to work,

but her mind and her heart are thousands of miles away

with her family and friends as airstrikes rain down on her homeland.

And honestly, the last week for all of us has been one of, how do I explain, waking up in the morning and you feel literally as if your legs weigh a ton and

you feel paralyzed. You feel like you're constantly not unable to breathe.

Since last Saturday, when the U.S. and Israeli bombardment began, the internet's been down.

Only the occasional message or voice note has got through.

So what happens is that I send a message to somebody that I know.

And sometimes it's one tick, sometimes it's two ticks.

I lost, you know, one relative, how is everybody and, you know,

how are the ones, you know, in the city or wherever they are,

and then he'll say, well, I talk to so and so and they say they're fine.

Everybody's fine.

I was reminded of the 1980s when my father was there.

...