Ali Asghar Zaeri was a third-grade student.
His sister, Parastesh, also studied at the same school and was trapped under the rubble when the crime took place. Speaking of that day, she says:
“A sixth-grade student came into the classroom and said there was a war. A few minutes later, the first missile struck, and we only heard the sound. My brother was pressed against the wall. I wanted to go and bring him toward myself, but then the second missile struck. I was thrown away, and after that I do not know what happened.”
With an excited face, Parastesh speaks of her younger brother’s mischief and the little quarrels they used to have.
“I love him very much. I miss him. He always made me play football with him. He is very good at playing football. He wants to become a footballer in the future. Thank God nothing happened to him. Only his hand was broken, and he was not badly hurt.”
Parastesh still does not know that her brother has been martyred.
Her father says, “I do not know how to tell her.”
He says Parastesh does not know that her teacher and classmates have also been martyred. “I tell her one by one.”
Thirty-seven percent of Parastesh’s body has been burned, and she remains in bed with her injuries.
Her father says:
“It was around 1:30 when we learned that my daughter Parastesh was in the hospital. We found my son the next day at the Tiab morgue. Only Ali Asghar’s face was burned; his body was completely intact.”
Parastesh was deeply attached to her brother. Although they had separate rooms, they would still sleep beside each other at night. Even after she regained consciousness, she kept asking about him.
The grandmother of the family, with tearful eyes, also speaks of her seven-year-old martyred grandson:
“Ali Asghar was a kind and generous boy. This year, for my birthday, he surprised me. He and his sister had put their pocket money together and bought sweets for me.”
Remembering the days when Parastesh had newly regained consciousness in the hospital, the grandmother says:
“Parastesh kept asking about Ali Asghar. She had even become suspicious of our black clothes. We told her we were wearing black because we were mourning the Leader.”
Ali Asghar’s story remains in the silence between what a sister knows and what a family cannot yet bear to tell her: a brother she still thinks will return, a football dream she still speaks of in the present tense, and a grief waiting at the door of a hospital room.