18. April 2025

I take off my heavy motorcycle helmet and place it on my iron competitor—my husband’s bike. We’re somewhere on the outskirts of Tehran. Around us stretch yellow-burgundy hills and dry, parched earth. In the distance, young trees have just been planted, their delicate green a quiet contrast to the dust. The motorcycle broke down right at the top of the hill. I step aside and wait calmly while my beloved husband tries to fix the problem, carefully inspecting the source of the breakdown.