I hurry down the zigzag path that results in the gate. I proceed to the passport verification level. Just one flight has landed at Imam Khomeini Airport tonight and that flight is the Lufthansa 600. There’s hardly a queue at the entrance of the mine. I’ve by no means seen the airport this empty earlier than. The border patrol officer asks for my documentation and I slide my Iranian passport underneath the bullet-proof glass of the border inspection kiosk. I attempt to regulate the headband I’ve thrown on my head within the aircraft.
The concern of getting arrested for not observing the compulsory hijab nonetheless nests in mine. It strikes once more as I land in Iran. The younger officer has beard stubble and wears an olive shirt that bears the golden thread insignia of the phrase Allah on his proper chest. His eyes are surrounded by heliotrope hollows. He seems to be drained and disengaged and doesn’t hassle to boost his eyes to take a look at the one who claims to be the holder of the passport. He doesn’t say welcome to Iran.