In Tehran, the Boof cafe provides a respite from the summer heat, serving cold beverages against a backdrop steeped in history.
Nestled in a verdant corner of the long-closed U.S. embassy, the cafe’s iced Americanos are a local favorite.
Since Washington severed ties with Tehran following the 1979 Iranian revolution and the hostage crisis, the embassy’s imposing cement walls have been adorned with anti-American murals, a constant reminder of the strained relationship.
Inside the inviting atmosphere of Boof cafe, Amir, the barista, expresses his hope for improved relations between the U.S. and Iran.
“U.S. sanctions harm our businesses and restrict our ability to travel,” he notes, pouring another iced coffee behind a sign that reads, “Keep calm and drink coffee.”
The cafe is sparsely occupied; one table hosts a woman in a traditional black veil, while another features a woman in jeans and flowing hair, defying social norms as she embraces her boyfriend.
This scene offers a glimpse into the capital as it grapples with an uncertain future.
Nearby, at the IRIB, Iran’s state television station, a recorded address by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei was broadcast nationwide on Thursday.
“The Americans have opposed the Islamic Republic of Iran from the very beginning,” he asserted.
“At its core, it has always been about one thing: they want us to surrender,” the 86-year-old Ayatollah continued, reportedly speaking from a secure location after recent Israeli strikes targeting Iranian nuclear and missile sites and the assassination of key commanders and scientists.
We viewed his speech, his first since President Donald Trump’s ceasefire announcement, on a small television in the only functional office within a devastated section of the IRIB compound, now a charred skeleton of steel.
An Israeli bomb struck the complex on June 16th, igniting a fire that consumed the main studio intended for the Supreme Leader’s address. Now, only ashes remain.
The acrid smell lingers, and the remnants of television equipment – cameras, lights, and tripods – are tangled in twisted metal. A carpet of shattered glass covers the floor.
Israel claimed the attack targeted the propaganda arm of the Islamic Republic, alleging it concealed military operations, a charge vehemently denied by IRIB journalists.
The building’s gaping shell symbolizes a particularly dark period for Iran.
The war’s impact is also evident in Tehran’s hospitals, where Iranians injured during Israel’s 12-day offensive are still receiving treatment.
“I am scared they might attack again,” says Ashraf Barghi, head nurse at Taleghani General Hospital’s emergency department.
“We don’t trust this war has ended,” she adds, echoing a sentiment of palpable anxiety widespread in the city.
When Israel bombed the vicinity of Evin prison on June 23rd, Nurse Barghi’s emergency ward was inundated with casualties, both soldiers and civilians.
“The injuries were the worst I’ve treated in my 32 years as a nurse,” she recounts, visibly shaken.
The strike on the notorious prison, where Iran detains many political prisoners, was described by Israel as “symbolic.”
It appeared to reinforce Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu’s recurring message to Iranians to “stand up for their freedom.”
“Israel says it only hit military and nuclear prison but it’s all lies,” insists Morteza from his hospital bed. He was working in the prison’s transport department when the missile struck. He displays injuries to his arms and back.
Soldiers are being treated in the adjacent ward, but access is restricted.
Across Tehran, Iranians are assessing the cost of the recent conflict. The government’s health ministry reports 627 fatalities and nearly 5,000 injuries.
The city is gradually returning to normalcy, at least superficially. Its notorious traffic is once again congesting highways and tree-lined streets.
Shops in Tehran’s beautiful bazaars are reopening as residents return after fleeing the bombing. Israel’s intense 12-day military operation, combined with U.S. strikes on Iran’s nuclear facilities, has left many deeply shaken.
“They weren’t good days,” says Mina, a young woman who becomes emotional as she describes her sorrow. “It’s so heart-breaking,” she says through tears. “We tried so hard to have a better life but we can’t see any future these days.”
We met near the towering white Azadi Tower, a prominent Tehran landmark. On a warm summer evening, a large crowd gathered, swaying to patriotic songs performed by the Tehran Symphony Orchestra at an open-air concert, intended to bring solace to an anxious city.
Supporters and critics of Iran’s clerical leadership mingled, united by shared concerns about their nation’s future.
“They have to hear what people say,” insists Ali Reza when asked what advice he would give his government. “We want greater freedoms, that’s all I will say.”
There is also defiance. “Attacking our nuclear bases to show off that ‘you have to do as we say’ goes against diplomacy,” says Hamed, an 18-year-old university student.
Despite long-standing rules and restrictions, Iranians express their opinions as they await the decisions of their leaders, as well as those in Washington and elsewhere, decisions that will profoundly impact their lives.
Additional reporting by Charlotte Scarr and Nik Millard.
Lyse Doucet is being allowed to report in Iran on condition that none of her reports are used on the BBC’s Persian service. This law from Iranian authorities applies to all international media agencies operating in Iran.
Abbas Araghchi also says there are no plans to resume nuclear talks with the US.
Iranian authorities have carried out arrests and executions of people suspected of links to Israeli intelligence agencies.
The video was part of an incredibly detailed briefing on the strikes against Iran’s nuclear programme.
At a Nato summit, President Trump again maintains the raid “obliterated” Iran’s nuclear facilities.
The war has left the country significantly weakened – and Ayatollah Ali Khamenei a diminished leader