Maryam sat in the back of the old Peugeot, her heart pounding. She clutched her bag with one hand, and the other gripped her dark grey hijab to prevent it from slipping, her eyes darting around as the car weaved through the crowded streets of Tehran.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Maryam asked the driver.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes, don’t worry. I know some back roads.”
Maryam nodded but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Speaking out against the new regime could lead to arrest, torture, or worse. And she had spoken out loudly and often. She had done so without thinking about her family. She saw that now.
Her friends at the university warned her of danger in a message last night. They told her to get out, use her voice for good, and let the world know. They said they had heard Narges Mohammadi was being tortured. They gave her the name of a man who had helped others flee Iran. Maryam contacted him through another student, who told her where the Peugeot…