It Was Just an Accident

In the quiet hush of a moonlit highway, a man with a prosthetic leg is driving home with his pregnant wife and young daughter. An unexpected collision with a stray dog forces him to pull over, his car sputtering and his night‑long journey suddenly halted. The fragile domestic moment, already charged with the anticipation of new life, is fractured by the sudden, unsettling accident that leaves the family stranded under an indifferent desert sky.

Seeking help, he arrives at a solitary garage where Vahid, an Azerbaijani mechanic, tends his battered vehicle. The cramped workshop, lit by the flicker of old fluorescent tubes, becomes a crucible for tension when Vahid recognizes the distinctive click of the driver’s prosthetic and the faint echo of a voice he once heard in a far‑removed prison corridor. Convinced that the newcomer is the very officer who haunted his past, Vahid’s hospitality shifts into suspicion, and the atmosphere thickens with the weight of unspoken histories.

The driver, later identified as Eghbal, finds himself caught between two worlds: the ordinary concerns of a family man and the dark reflections cast by Vahid’s memories. As the night deepens, a small circle of acquaintances—each bearing their own scars from the same shadowed chapter—converges, turning the garage into a stage for an uneasy moral reckoning. Their conversations drift between quiet desperation and the clamor of past grievances, probing where vengeance ends and justice begins.

The film unfolds in a stark, almost tactile landscape where desert heat and night‑time darkness amplify the characters’ inner turmoil. Its tone is a slow‑burning thriller, laced with atmospheric dread and lingering melancholy, inviting the audience to question how thin the line is between the roles of victim and perpetrator, and what truth might emerge when identity is examined under the harsh light of memory.

Last Updated: December 03, 2025 at 23:30