Esra Farahizadeh was a first-grade student.
Her mother says that on the day of the attack, Esra was ill. “I gave her medicine,” she says, “and then sent her to school.”
Her father, who served as a maritime police officer, says:
“I was on duty when they called and told us that my daughter’s school had been targeted.”
He says he was the first police officer to reach the school.
“I immediately radioed for ambulances and rescue forces to come.”
A few days after the incident, the Education Department called him and told him to come and collect Esra’s earrings. Among Esra’s belongings, there was also a necklace he did not recognize.
“When I showed it to my wife,” he says, “she told me: Esra came to me in a dream and said, ‘Tell my father not to cry. Tell him not to hurt himself. I will send him a gift.’”
A few days later, while they were looking through photos on their phone, they saw the same necklace in the pictures. They were surprised. Then they understood that this was the necklace Esra had spoken of.
Esra’s story reaches us through small, aching details: medicine given before school, a father called away from duty to the ruins of his daughter’s classroom, earrings returned after death, and a necklace that became, for her grieving parents, the last sign of a child still speaking to them through memory and dream.