The messages began circulating in the early hours of April 8, long before sunrise. In Tehran, many were still awake, watching, refreshing, waiting. For weeks, the rhythm of life had been dictated by explosions, rumours and deadlines. This time, the deadline passed in silence.

Just under one hour before the expiry of Donald Trump’s ultimatum to strike Iran’s energy and communications infrastructure, a ceasefire was announced. The US president declared it first, posting online that a two-week halt in hostilities had been agreed, with Israel included. Within minutes, Iranian officials confirmed that if attacks stopped, their own operations would follow.

For a population that has lived through weeks of sustained bombardment since February 28, the immediate reaction was not celebration, but something closer to cautious exhale.

Mina, a Tehran resident, told IntelliNews, “A ceasefire is not peace. But at least for two weeks we can live without constantly hearing about explosions and deaths. I don’t feel stable, though. I still expect everything to collapse again at any moment.”

Across the capital, the night had been unusually tense even by recent standards. Some, like Maryam, had deliberately stayed awake to see how events would unfold.

“I was up late on April 7 waiting for the news,” she said. “When I saw the ceasefire, I didn’t feel happy. The system is still in place, and now it’s more aggressive than before. All the damage will be taken out of people’s pockets. I’m more worried about the economy than anything else.”

By morning, Tehran felt different, but only slightly. The checkpoints remained. The internet was still unreliable. The long queues, at petrol stations, bakeries, pharmacies, had shortened, but not disappeared. In some neighbourhoods, shop shutters cautiously reopened. In others, they stayed half-closed, as if hedging against the possibility that the war might resume at any moment.

The ceasefire itself came together through a last-minute diplomatic push, with Shehbaz Sharif acting as a key intermediary. He had urged Washington to extend its deadline and called on Tehran to reopen the Strait of Hormuz. Trump ultimately agreed to pause military action for two weeks, conditional on safe passage through the waterway and a broader framework for negotiations.

Iranian officials, for their part, said a ten-point proposal had been accepted in principle, including provisions on sanctions relief and security guarantees. Trump, meanwhile, described the moment as a “total victory” and suggested that most major disagreements had already been resolved.

On the ground, such claims are met with scepticism.

“Which victory?” said Mehrshad, 34, from Karaj. “Give it two weeks. Either the war starts again or there’s total surrender. They’re just buying time.”

Others expressed outright disbelief that the terms being discussed could hold. Mohammad, an office worker in Tehran, said, “There is no way Trump accepts these kinds of conditions long term. Even one of them would cost him politically. This is temporary, nothing more.”

Still, the pause in fighting has introduced a fragile sense of normality. Hassan, a father of two, said he was relieved to return to work. “We’ve had enough. I didn’t want things to stay like this politically, but it’s better than everything being destroyed. Even now, the damage will take years to fix, if it ever is.”

Not everyone sees the ceasefire as a relief. Zahra, a mother of a nine-year-old boy, described a very different reaction. “I was so worried about both the war and the negotiations,” she said. “When I woke up and saw on television that they were celebrating victory, everything inside me collapsed. It felt like all hope disappeared at once.”

Iran is still split, and the rally around the flag effect isn't unanimous. Some remain deeply distrustful of both domestic leadership and foreign actors. Others cling to any sign of de-escalation, however temporary.

Mehdi, who said he had spent the past weeks attending pro-government gatherings, insisted the outcome proved resilience. “We were out every night showing support. Even after everything, we’re still standing.”

That sense of endurance is part of a familiar national narrative. But this time, the scale of the conflict and the visible damage to infrastructure, military assets, and leadership have complicated any straightforward interpretation of events.

Even as the ceasefire took effect, reports of missile launches and explosions continued to filter through, marking how fragile the situation remains. Israeli officials have already signalled that their participation is conditional, while questions linger over whether the truce extends to all fronts.

For now, Tehran waits again, this time not for the next strike, but for signs of whether the pause will hold.

The two-week window has been framed by all sides as an opportunity: to negotiate, to stabilise, to reset. But in a city where war has, in recent weeks, become part of daily life, few are willing to believe that anything resembling normality has truly returned.

As Mina put it, “It’s a mix of fear and hope. Fear that things get worse, and hope, however small, that they don’t.”