The first explosions came without much warning. For many Tehranis, the initial reaction was one of stunned excitement, a jolt of adrenaline cutting through months of grinding economic anxiety.

Social media, in the brief windows it remained accessible, lit up with a confused mixture of jubilation and dread. But as the sound of warning shots rang out across the capital's skyline and the reality of what was unfolding became impossible to ignore, the mood shifted sharply. Excitement gave way to fear, and fear to a grim, quiet resignation.

The reactions have been far from uniform. A visible portion of the public expressed something close to relief, believing that external military intervention might finally shake loose a political situation that has felt immovable for years. Others, particularly those old enough to remember the war with Iraq, greeted the news with weary familiarity. Many had been expecting some form of escalation for weeks, reading the diplomatic signals and regional posturing as a prelude to exactly this kind of moment.

What followed was predictable in its chaos. Within hours of the first strikes on March 1, residents began flooding into major supermarkets and chain retailers, filling trolleys with rice, cooking oil, tinned goods and bottled water. The memory of shortages during previous crises loomed large, even though the 12-day conflict last time around had not produced the supply disruptions people feared.

This time, however, the panic felt more urgent. Economic pressures had already been mounting sharply in the weeks prior, particularly after the latest round of subsidy adjustments sent food prices lurching upwards. For households already stretched to breaking point, the prospect of further disruption was simply unbearable.

The National Security Council moved quickly to advise residents to remain in the capital, projecting calm authority through state media. Many complied. But quietly, away from the cameras, a steady trickle of families began packing cars and heading for Isfahan, Shiraz and smaller provincial cities. Nobody called it an evacuation. The word carries too much political weight. But the intent was unmistakable.

On the streets, the atmosphere has been deeply strange. In the immediate aftermath of the strikes, clusters of people gathered outdoors, some visibly emotional, others simply needing the company of strangers in an extraordinary moment.

That openness did not last long. Plainclothes security officers appeared within hours, moving through neighbourhoods and firmly encouraging everyone to return home. The message was clear: public gatherings, even spontaneous ones born of shock rather than protest, would not be tolerated.

Iran's internet restrictions, already severe before the strikes, have tightened further. VPN connections drop constantly. Messaging apps are unreliable at best. For a population that has grown grimly accustomed to digital blackouts during periods of political sensitivity, the latest round of blockages has nonetheless been punishing, not least because of the economic toll.

This period should be one of the busiest commercial seasons of the year, with Nowruz preparations driving a surge in retail and online trade. Instead, the bazaars are eerily subdued. Several online businesses have suspended operations entirely, unable to process orders or communicate with customers. The knock-on effect on employment, particularly among younger gig workers and small traders, is already being felt.

Long queues have become the defining image of Tehran this week, snaking lines at petrol stations, at bakeries, at the few grocery delivery services still operating with sharply reduced inventories of mostly non-essential goods.

There is political chatter, of course. In private gatherings and on encrypted channels, conversations turn to what comes next. Some mention the Mojahedin-e-Khalq (MKO), though almost always dismissively.

The group commands negligible public support inside the country. Others speculate about potential future leadership, though nothing resembling a consensus or unified vision has emerged. For now, Tehran waits, indoors, largely offline, and bracing for whatever follows.