As I walk down Hakim Nezami Street, an older gentleman approaches me and offers some sweets. It’s a customary gesture on Thursday nights before Friday. To my surprise, he calls me by my name. I look up puzzled and ask how he recognized me.
Then, I realize he was my childhood barber who used to cut my hair. I ask him how he knew it was me after all these years. He smiles warmly and says, “I recognized your eyes.”