In a remote village in the highlands of Gilan, northern Iran, a woman lives with her young child in a simple house made of mud and wood. Her husband is a herdsman and returns from the plains every few days—tired, but with hands full of effort. These days, the paths have become harsher and the weather more unforgiving, making the wait even longer. Each morning, the woman gathers firewood, fetches water from the spring, and cooks with whatever is available. The child doesn’t yet understand the meaning of longing, but each time he leans against the window frame, it’s as if he knows his father must return. The burden of loneliness and hardship weighs heavily on the mother’s shoulders, but hope remains the brightest light in their home. With every sunrise, she looks toward the dusty road below, clinging to the moment when familiar footsteps will break the silence of the mountains and bring a smile back to her child’s face.