The missiles left from Tehran and Isfahan—cities I've visited, cities where friends and family live. The state broadcasters are framing this as strength, as defiance, as Iran standing tall against aggression.

But here's what they won't say:

This isn't strength. This is desperation dressed up in fire and smoke.

I've spent years watching this government make choices that hurt ordinary Iranians while claiming to protect us. Every sanction they provoke, every escalation they choose, every bridge they burn—we pay for it. Not them. Us.

Tonight, they launched missiles at Israel. Tomorrow, there will be consequences. More sanctions. More isolation. More economic collapse. And who will suffer? Not the officials giving the orders from their secure compounds. Not the Revolutionary Guard commanders orchestrating this theater.

It will be the shopkeeper who can't afford to restock his shelves.

It will be the mother who watches medicine prices double overnight.

It will be the student whose university scholarship evaporates because the currency crashed again.

The videos from Haifa show missiles falling, some intercepted, some not. I don't know who was underneath them. I don't know if they were soldiers or civilians, guilty or innocent. What I know is that violence begets violence, and we've been caught in this cycle for so long that some people have forgotten there was ever another way.

I'm tired of being told this is about defending Iran.

This isn't defense. This is a regime prolonging its own survival at any cost—even if that cost is the future of 80 million people who never asked for this war.

From where I sit, far from the capital but not far enough from the consequences, I can see clearly: tonight was not a victory.

Tonight was the sound of another door closing.