On the way home, after a working day. The city lights reveal the sharp hatching of the rain. People—many passing by, some standing aside watching. In the neon glow of the street, the wet sidewalks shimmer and blend the shadows together. The sound of cars, footsteps sliding on the wet asphalt, and the vague clamor coming from nearby cinemas and cafés—all are captured in this frame; at a time when movie theatre still mattered. The Berelian movie theatre shines with its signs, and perhaps a film is playing on the screen, taking people from the cold Shah-Abad Street (Jomhouri) to another world. Behind all this movement, a deep silence seems to be hidden. Faces are indistinct, gazes blurred, and this darkness mixed with scattered lights portrays a sense of lostness. It’s as if every passerby holds an untold story, a secret in the heart of the night, in the middle of a street that is both real and dreamlike—like a scene from a noir film with no clear ending.