It's past midnight here and I can't sleep.

State television is showing footage on repeat—missiles arcing across the night sky, launched from Tehran and Isfahan. They're calling it a "defensive response." They're calling it "justified retaliation." They're calling it a lot of things.

What they're not showing is what happens next.

The videos are everywhere now. Footage from Lebanon shows the trails of light cutting through the darkness, heading south. In Haifa, the interceptions light up the sky like fireworks, but not all of them are stopped. Some hit the ground. Some miss. The cameras shake.

I'm not in Tehran. I'm far from the capital, closer to the sea, where the air is supposed to be clearer and the politics are supposed to matter less. But they don't matter less. Not tonight. Tonight, everyone is watching the same screens, holding the same breath.

My neighbor came to my door an hour ago. "Did you see?" she asked. Of course I saw. Everyone saw. The regime made sure of that.

What I wonder is what they're not showing us. What happens when those missiles land? What happens to the people underneath them?

What happens to us when this is over?

I don't know. But I know this: the people celebrating in the streets tonight won't be the ones paying the price tomorrow.

They never are.