Today, Mr. Ankit returned with Mr. Lakhan and a policeman in tow. No uniforms again, just the same civilian clothes that make it hard to trust their authority. They sat down, and for a moment, I let myself hope that this visit might bring some progress. But hope is a dangerous thing in my world right now, and it didn’t take long for that flicker to fade.
They started by asking about the situation at home, how my parents have been treating me. I laid it bare, I’m still locked up, cut off from everyone, my father constantly hovering with his phone, recording me, the camera pointed right at my face like a weapon. It’s unnerving, invasive, and it never stops. I told them how it feels like I’m under surveillance in my own home, a prisoner in every sense. They listened, or at least they seemed to. But their questions quickly veered off course.
Suddenly, we were talking about politics. Yes politics, as if my life isn’t hanging by a thread. It felt so out of place, so irrelevant, that I could barely keep up. Then they asked how I managed to send a message to David. I explained, but their curiosity felt more like probing than concern. I handed over a consent note, clearly stating that I authorize David to speak on my behalf, to be my voice when I have none.
I begged them to let me speak to Mr. Lyonz, my legal representative. But they brushed it off, claiming their “government device” couldn’t be used for that. A flimsy excuse, one that didn’t even try to hide its absurdity. I pushed further, asking them to connect me with a protection officer, someone, anyone, who could step in and pull me out of this. Their response? They’re from the Cybercrime Department, they said, and apparently, that means they have no connection to protection officers. Another dead end.
They did dangle one promise that they’d help me find a lawyer. But it felt like just another empty assurance, like the ones they made last time when they took my devices and left me with nothing but vague promises and no receipt. They left today the same way, without helping, without answers, just more delays and excuses. The door closed behind them, and I was left in the same suffocating silence, no closer to freedom than before.
I’m starting to see the pattern now. Every visit, every conversation, feels like a performance. They show up, they ask questions, they make promises, but nothing changes. If anything, I feel more trapped, more betrayed.
