The Ache for an Afternoon on a Mountain Path That My Feet Can’t Reach Tonight

Dear Delyara, I spent the evening listening to an old classical instrument track from my childhood, sitting on my balcony while the London traffic rumbled below. A sudden, intense wave of homesickness hit me so hard it felt like a physical blow to the chest—a desperate, aching longing for the dry, dusty air of the Alborz mountains, the smell of wild thyme in the sun, and the massive openness of a sky that isn't framed by concrete skyscrapers. I’ve lived in the UK for years, I have a life here, a career, and a home. But tonight, I feel like a tree whose roots have been shoved into a small plastic pot. I am split entirely in two, and the piece of me that belongs to that high, sun-baked earth is crying out in the dark.