"When I make it to a cafe table, even for a few minutes, I can almost believe the world hasn't ended," said Fatemeh, 27, a dental assistant.

"It feels like stepping out of this damn war and into an ordinary day, or at least imagining a world that isn't filled with the constant fear of losing your life, or where you stay alive but lose a loved one or everything you have," she told AFP.

If a lull in the bombing allows a better night's sleep, Fatemeh said she will put on make-up and dress up to make her visit to the cafe extra special.

"And then I go back home, back to the reality of living through war, with all its darkness and weight," she said.

Residents of Tehran who spoke to AFP's team covering the war in Paris painted a picture of a city that is still clinging to some routine, with cafes and restaurants open, no shortages reported in supermarkets or petrol stations, and people trying to keep up some vestige of a social life.

But they know that life is anything but normal with the US and Israel maintaining a relentless pace of bombardment on the capital since the war started on February 28 with the killing of supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and other top officials.

There are security checkpoints on what were peaceful streets, the internet has been blocked or drastically slowed for everything except domestic services, and windows are taped up to prevent them shattering in case of attack.

As well as fear of being killed or losing a loved one in an attack, people are gripped by anxiety over the future, over what kind of country they will live in and how they will make ends meet amid a collapsing economy.

The people who agreed to share messages with AFP gave only their first names for fear of the consequences were they to be identified by authorities.

- 'Only thing left' -

"These days, I mostly stay at home and only go out if I absolutely have to. The only thing left from my life routine before the war that helps me keep my spirit up is cooking," said Shahrzad, 39, a housewife.

But she added: "Sometimes I find myself crying in the middle of it. I miss ordinary days... A life where I didn't have to constantly think about explosions, death, or losing my loved ones.

"I try to stay strong for my daughter... But when I think about the future, I can't form any clear picture in my mind that I can hold on to with hope."

People in Tehran have over the last week been trying to make the best they can out of the main traditional Persian holiday of Nowruz, a festival that normally sees people leave the city or celebrate at home with family.

"There is no famine, everything is available. Cafes are open, and we still go out to cafes," said Shayan, 40, a photographer. "There is gasoline, water, and electricity."

"But there is a sense of helplessness in all of us. We don't know what to do and there's really nothing we can do.

"There was no real Nowruz atmosphere at all, but we tried to force ourselves," he said.

While shops and restaurants are open until 9:00 pm, "many people don't go out after the afternoon", he added.

In a continuation of a trend that began months before the war, more women are openly not wearing the headscarf that is obligatory under the Islamic republic's dress rules, residents say.

State television has at rallies even interviewed bare-headed women, so long as they express pro-government sentiments.

- 'I miss a peaceful night's sleep' -

Elnaz, 32, a Tehran-based painter, said when attacks did relent and she had time to think, she remembered how much she missed "living a simple life".

"We miss the simplest things, going out at night, or just being able to go to another part of the city.

"I miss something as ordinary as shopping somewhere other than the small grocery store or bakery on my street.

"I miss reading in a cafe, going to the park... all those very, very simple things."

She added: "And more than anything, I miss a peaceful night's sleep."

Elnaz said that on some nights the attacks are so intense it feels like "all of Tehran is shaking".

"Everything goes back to one state -- survival. Thinking only about staying alive with all the people I love. My friends, my family, and the people of my city, who look kinder than ever in this difficult time," she said.

Kaveh, 38, a visual artist, said a piece of a missile struck about 50 metres from his house a few days ago.

"I brought it home with me. I want to make something out of it when I get the chance," he said, recalling that dust was falling from the sky and several windows shattered immediately.

He described how at night in some areas, groups of people who back the clerical system drive around, honking and gathering, "while just a few streets away, there are checkpoints where cars and phones of normal people are being searched".

"If you have something to do in the city, you'll likely pass through multiple checkpoints in a single day -- each run by different groups. Cars are searched, phones are checked, and months of accumulated frustration are taken out on people at these checkpoints.

"These are just parts of our daily reality under these circumstances," he said.

The morose atmosphere, residents say, has been compounded by unseasonably rainy weather that contrasts with the spring sunshine people are used to enjoying at Nowruz.

Portraits of children killed in attacks are displayed in squares, while giant flags of the Islamic republic cover buildings that have been reduced to ruins.

"In the end, for many people, the most important concern is the future of Iran and its people, and what might actually improve the situation," said Kaveh.