The call lasted 37 seconds, then silence, and 18 months of waiting suddenly fell on her like a ceiling. The phone vibrated at 2:47 am. Elena Sokolova did not sleep. She has long since forgotten how. She simply lay in the darkness of her Grodno apartment, staring at her smartphone screen, as a dying man looks at the door behind which the doctor is supposed to appear.
An unfamiliar number, long, with a code that she didn’t immediately recognize. +971. Emirates. The heart stopped for a split second and then beat twice as hard. Hello. Her voice sounded hoarse, alien. There’s breath on the other end. Not a word, just breathing. Intermittent, clamped, like a person whose mouth is being clamped shut.
“Alinochka!” – she whispered, digging her nails into her palms. And then a quiet, broken whisper. The voice of her daughter, but no longer her daughter. A voice from which all life was burned out. Mom, one word, there is a whole abyss of pain in it. My daughter, oh my God, Alina, where are you? What’s wrong with you? The words came out in a stream, tears were already clouding my eyes.
Mom, I can’t talk, they’re keeping me here. They’re holding. Didn’t stay long. No problem with the visa, it’s not all complicated, Mom, I’ll explain later. They keep us like we’re in a cage. Who holds the address? City, say something. She almost screamed into the phone, lowering her voice to a hiss: “Help.” A pike and deafening absolute silence.
Short beeps beating out a funeral march. “Alina!” she screamed into the dead phone. I clicked on the green icon again and again . Again and again I heard the dispassionate voice of the answering machine. First in Arabic, then in English. The number you have dialed is not available.
Elena threw the phone away, jumped up, and began pacing around the room like a trapped animal. My gaze fell on the photograph on the dresser. Alina, twenty years old, laughing in a Minsk park. Her fair hair flutters in the wind in her eyes, anticipating a brilliant future, the very fairy tale for which she flew to Dubai. They are keeping me here.
The phrase beat in my skull like a bat. Who? For what? How long? Was this relationship her only chance or just confirmation of the worst she had been pushing away for 18 months? She fell to her knees and buried her face in her palms. A silent scream escaped from his chest . The scream of a mother whose child had just been dragged into the darkness before her eyes. She didn’t know where this darkness was.
I did n’t know how deep. She only knew one thing: her daughter was there alone. And she has 37 seconds of her voice. 37 seconds, which should now become a guiding star into the water. This call lasted 37 seconds. It became a point of no return for the Sokolov family. But to understand how a twenty-year-old student from Grodno, who dreamed of a beautiful life, ended up in hell 5,000 km from home, you need to go back 18 months, to that last summer when everything still seemed possible.
What makes us believe in a fairy tale, even when all the facts scream deception? And at what price is freedom given? The June sun flooded the auditorium of the city university, but for Alina Sokolova the world outside the window was just a blurry watercolor spot. She sat in the third row, mechanically taking notes from a lecture on economic theory.
The pen glided across the paper, creating even calligraphic letters. The result of the habit of being the best. Getting an A on her report card wasn’t a goal, but a standard, the only way she could prove to herself and the world that she was capable of more. ” Therefore, asset diversification allows us to minimize risks in a volatile market,” the gray-haired professor droned.
Alina nodded, as if agreeing, but her thoughts were 1,000 kilometers away. Under her desk, hidden from the professor’s eyes, a smartphone screen glowed . Her thumb habitually curled upward, refreshing her Instagram feed. Here it is, true diversification. Not of assets, but of lives. Sapphire water Infinity Pool skyscraper.
A tanned hand with a glass of Prosecco against the backdrop of a desert sunset . A snow-white smile against the backdrop of the Burchkhalifa. Dubai. This word pulsed on the screen in bright, rich colors, drowning out the gray Grodno landscape outside the window and the dreary economic theory in the classroom.
Alina wasn’t just looking; she was studying, analyzing, trying on these dresses, these smiles, these views from the windows. “Are you getting stuck again?” Katya, her best friend, whispered in her ear. When the lecture ended and the buzz in the auditorium brought Alina back to reality. Let me guess. Your Arab princesses again.
“They’re princesses, and the hosts are models and bloggers,” Alina corrected, putting her phone in her bag. “They made themselves. Yeah, they made themselves,” Katya chuckled as they walked down the echoing corridor. They have good sponsors, that’s all. Ourselves. Alina, this is all staged.
Filters, angles, 100 takes for one shot. You are smart. Do you really believe this fairy tale? “I believe in possibility,” Alina objected a little more sharply than she intended. That one can live, not just exist. Look. She stopped and waved her hand around the corridor. This is our future. creaky linoleum, a diploma, a 9-5 job for $500, if you’re lucky, a 30- year mortgage on a two-room apartment in the ninth.
Thank you, I do n’t want that. I want to help my parents. I want my mom to not have to count every penny until payday and not darn my dad’s socks in the evenings. I want to see the world. I want to wake up and know that today will not be an exact copy of yesterday. Katya sighed. She knew that glint in her friend’s eyes, a mixture of despair and stubborn determination.
And what do you want? Their conversation was interrupted at the exit. They hugged, and Katya said quietly. Just be careful what you wish for, Aline. Sometimes they come true. The house greeted Alina with the smell of fried potatoes and fatigue. A small but sparklingly clean apartment on the outskirts of the city was her fortress and cage at the same time.
She loved her to the point of pain in her heart. and also really dreamed of breaking out of it . Elena Viktorovna, her mother, stood at the stove. Her face, still beautiful, was touched by a network of wrinkles around her eyes, not from laughter, but from constant worry. Hi, Mom. Hello, sunshine.
You’re tired, sit down, we’re going to have dinner now . Father will be back from work soon. Alina sat at the table in the kitchen, watching her mother. Behind her hands, which so deftly turned over potatoes, and in the evening will be sorting through papers. She worked as an accountant in a small firm. Alina knew by heart the story of every crack on these hands, every callus.
She knew how they gave up a trip to the sea three years ago to buy her a new laptop for her studies. How her father worked double shifts to pay for her good English classes. They had given her all they could, and now she felt indebted to them. But repaying this debt while working in Grodno was like trying to scoop up a nemon with a spoon.
“What are you dreaming about, daughter?” – Elena asked softly, leaving the plate in front of her. “Just something, Mom, about the future,” Alina answered evasively. Her future was shining in her jeans pocket again at that moment . Late in the evening, when her parents were already asleep, Alina was lying in her room.
The silence was broken only by the measured ticking of the old clock in the living room. The light from the phone screen fell on her face, making her eyes seem huge and bottomless. She was there again, in digital paradise. I scrolled through profiles, reading comments: “Beauty, this is life, how do I get there?” She opened her page: several selfies, a photo with Katya, a photo with the parents of the successful yabony.
Nice, simple, grey. She felt invisible, a grain of sand on a vast beach. She had perfect data. Height 175. Slender figure, regular facial features, long light brown hair and large grey eyes. She knew it was beautiful, but this beauty here in Grodno seemed like a useless treasure, for which there was no worthy frame.
Suddenly, a notification popped up at the top of the screen : no like, no comment, just a request to message me directly. My heart skipped a beat. Sender’s name is Mark. The profile photo shows a confident man of about thirty in a perfectly tailored business suit. In the background is a panorama of Dubai at night, with a marina with yachts shining with lights. No flashy brands, no vulgarity, just discreet, expensive elegance.
Alina accepted the request with bated breath. The message appeared instantly, as if it was just what he was waiting for. Black letters on a white background. Alina, hello. You have a stunning type. We are looking for hosts for high-end events in the UAR. Alina’s fingers froze over the screen, as if afraid to touch and dispel the mirage.
The heart was pounding in the throat, loudly, booming, drowning out the ticking of the clock. “You have a fantastic type.” This phrase, so simple and so powerful, pierced the armor of her Grodno reality. It wasn’t you, sweet or pretty. Type is a word from another world, a world of castings, glossy magazines and big money.
She typed out her reply, erasing and rewriting it several times. Hello, thank you. What kind of event is this? The answer came almost instantly. Private receptions, presentations of luxury brands, and escorting VIP guests at international forums. Our company Events specializes in organizing premium events. The work is exclusively official.
Contract, work visa, insurance. Alina stared at the words. Official. Contract. These were the anchors that her consciousness desperately clung to, driving away doubts from her mind. What are the conditions? Her fingers no longer trembled. They flew over the keyboard, driven by drunken hope. $5,000 per month.
Business class flights and accommodations in comfortable staff apartments in the Dubai Marina area are provided by the company. Contract for 6 months with possibility of extension. You must have a presentable appearance, speak intermediate English , be sociable and able to handle stress. 5,000 dollars. The amount was so absurd, so unrealistic for her world, that Alina laughed quietly so as not to wake her parents.
It was her mother’s salary for almost a year, for one month, for being beautiful and smiling. Mark was flawless. He answered questions before she could formulate them. In his next message, he sent a link to the Elsian Events website, a sleek, minimalist design featuring photos of glittering skyscrapers and testimonials from fictitious clients like Global Petracem and Arabian Luxury Group.
And then came a PDF file of a draft contract agreement with logos, watermarks, and complex legal language in English. Everything looked so respectable. The next day she was sitting in their favorite cafe opposite Katya. On the table between the cups of cooling lat lay her phone with an open correspondence.
Alina, beaming, recounted everything, expecting delight, hugs and joyful squeals. Katya was silent. She slowly scrolled through the correspondence. A frown crossed her forehead . Alina, no. What? No. Katya, did you see? 5,000 business class. I see something different. A stranger from Instagram offers you mountains of gold.
Did you google it? This is his Elysian Evvens. Of course, they have a website, everything is official, Alina answered with a hint of resentment in her voice . A website can be made in 2 hours. Alinka, I’ll draw you 10 of these. The reviews are fake. I checked these companies, they have nothing to do with the events.
This is a classic scheme. Too good to be true. “You’re just jealous,” Alina blurted out before she could think. Pain flashed in Katya’s eyes . “You’re stupid!” she said quietly. “I’m afraid for you.” Remember what I said about the production. This is its main set. They’re luring you in with a pretty picture. “Who is this Mark? Have you seen him? Did you hear his voice?” Her friend’s words pricked her like icy needles, but the temptation was too great.
This was her chance, her only chance, to pull herself and her parents out of this gray, hopeless life. He suggested a video call tomorrow,” Alina muttered, looking out the window to conduct an interview. Katya sighed heavily and covered her hand with her own. Please, be careful. Just promise me. Alina nodded, and it already knew that it would not back down.
The video interview was scheduled for 8 pm. Alina prepared for it as if it were the main exam in her life. She did her makeup, styled her hair, and put on her best blouse. When Mark’s face appeared on the laptop screen, she realized she was lost. He was even better than in the photo. Perfect stubble, a snow-white smile, intelligent, slightly narrowed eyes.
In the background was a panoramic window with a view of evening Dubai, strewn with myriad lights. He spoke in excellent Russian with an easy, barely A subtle accent that gave his speech a special charm. He didn’t ask stupid questions; he engaged in a conversation, asking about her studies, her hobbies, her dreams. He listened attentively, nodded, and smiled.
“You see, Alina,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “For us, it’s not just appearance that matters.” We need individuals. Girls who have a spark, a core. I see it in you. You are not just another beauty, you are a rare type. And I’m sure you’ll blossom in Dubai. He was charming.
He said exactly what she had wanted to hear her whole life. He made her feel chosen, special. Katya’s warnings now seemed funny and absurd. “We are ready to make you an offer, Alina,” he said at the end of the conversation. “I’ll send you a ticket by email.” Departure from Minsk in 2 weeks. Is it suitable for you? 2 weeks. My heart sank.
“Yes,” she breathed out. Fits. The conversation with my mother was the most difficult. Elena turned pale when she heard about Dubai. But Alina was convincing. She showed the contract, the website, talked about official employment, about the huge salary, about how they would finally start living well. Mom, I can help you.
We’ll buy dad a new car and do some repairs. You’ve always dreamed of a new kitchen. She saw fear and hope fighting in her mother’s eyes . And hope, reinforced by daughterly confidence, won. The next two weeks flew by in a blur. Quitting my part-time job at a coffee shop, finishing my finals at university, buying summer dresses, and having farewell get-togethers with friends.
Katya came, gave her a small amulet pendant and hugged her for a long time, whispering: “Call me every day, do you hear? Every day.” Minsk airport. Noisy, bustling, smelling of coffee and the anxiety of parting. Elena did not stop crying, clutching her daughter’s jacket in her arms . Her father stood nearby, confusedly stroking his wife on the shoulder and furtively wiping his eyes.
Well, Mom, what are you doing? Alina laughed, although tears were welling up in her own eyes. I’m not going to war, only for six months. She hugged her mother tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair and perfume. Mom, everything will be fine. I’ll come in six months, we’ll buy you a new kitchen.
She kissed her father, picked up her small suitcase on wheels and, waving it one last time, resolutely walked towards the departure area. The passport control glass separated her from her past life. She turned around. Her parents were standing small lost figures in the enormous hall. Alina smiled at them with the brightest, most reassuring smile she could muster.
A last look full of hope. She did n’t yet know that she was seeing them for the last time. Dubai greeted her with a moist, dense heat that instantly stuck to her skin. She had barely stepped out of the air-conditioned cool of the airport. The air was filled with the scents of spices, expensive perfume, and exhaust fumes.
Alina, clutching the handle of her suitcase, looked around with rapturous excitement . Everything was exactly as in her dreams. Giant palm trees, cars sparkling in the sun, people of all races and nationalities. She searched the crowd for Mark’s face, the same open, friendly gaze she had seen during the video interview. He had promised to meet her personally with a sign reading “Elysian Evans,” but instead she saw only her name, written in black marker on a piece of cardboard: “Alina Sokolova.
” The sign was held by a tall, broad-shouldered man in A snow-white dejdashi. His face, framed by a thick black beard, was emotionless. He didn’t smile, he simply stood like a rock and waited. “Hello, I’m Alina. “Where’s Mark?” she asked hesitantly, coming closer. The man nodded silently, took the suitcase from her hands and also silently turned around, pointing his chin towards the parking lot.
Alina hurried after him. Her high-heeled shoes uncertainly tapped on the hot asphalt. Bewilderment fought with the desire not to seem stupid. Mark was probably very busy. This was his assistant Hamid, I think. That’s how he introduced himself in a short message. A black tinted SUV was waiting for them, which silently opened the doors.
Inside, there was an icy coolness and the smell of expensive leather. This calmed Alina a little . Of course, everything was fine. This is Dubai. This is the level of service here. “Are we going to Dubai Marina?” she asked as the car smoothly pulled away. The driver, that same Hamit, only glanced at her briefly in the rearview mirror . “Shut up.
” The word hit like a slap. Alina sank into her seat. Maybe she misheard? Or was this just A strange joke? She looked out the window at the futuristic skyscrapers flashing past, but the joy gave way to a sticky, throat-crushing dread. After 15 minutes, the landscape began to change. The gleam of glass and steel gave way to uniform, sand-colored two-story buildings, dusty roads, and the occasional stunted palm tree.
It was nothing like the postcards from Dubai Marina. The car turned into a narrow alley and stopped at a high, blank wall topped with what looked like a coil of barbed wire. The heavy metal gate slid open with a screech, and the SUV drove into an inner courtyard paved with cracked tiles. The gate closed behind her with the same screech . “Get out,” Hamid snapped.
Alina’s heart pounded so hard it hurt to breathe. “This is a mistake. This is definitely some kind of terrible mistake.” “I’m sorry, but this is not my apartment,” her voice trembled. “I should live in Dubai Marina. I have a contract with Elysiana Vance.” Hamid got out of the car and walked around her.
His shadow completely covered Alina. He grinned, but there was not a drop of humor in this grin . Your apartment is here, and your work is here too. He roughly grabbed her suitcase and pushed her in the back, forcing her to go to an inconspicuous door in the wall of the villa. Inside, I was hit by the smell of stale air, chlorine and something sour, like old sweat.
He led her along a dim corridor and pushed her into one of the doors. The room was small and dirty. Instead of a bed, three thin mattresses were thrown on the floor. A massive metal grate was visible on the only tightly closed window. On one of the mattresses, a thin dark-haired girl was sitting with her arms around her knees and crying quietly.
On the other, another one lay, turned away from the wall, and her shoulders were shaking silently. “What is this?” “Where “Me?” Alina whispered, backing away, but ran into Hamid’s chest. “This is your new home.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact. Passport and phone. “I won’t give it up,” Alina glared, instinctively clutching her purse to herself . “I’ll call the police.
” Mark Hamet didn’t argue. His hand instantly snatched the purse, shaking out its contents onto the dirty floor. Passport, phone, lipstick, the gift Katya and the amulet pendant. Everything scattered at his feet. He picked up the passport and phone. “For a work visa,” he said mockingly. The rules here are simple: work when you’re told, eat what you’re given, and keep quiet. Disobedience will hurt.
Very hurt. Work starts today at 1600, then Miss Karisa. Any questions? Alina looked at him, unable to utter a word. The world had collapsed. Her whole fairy tale, Her dreams, her new kitchen for her mother, all crumbled to dust on this dirty floor along with the contents of her purse. A fury of despair boiled within her.
“You have no right. Give me back my things. “I’m not going anywhere,” she screamed and rushed to the door, trying to escape into the hallway. Hamid’s reaction was instantaneous. He didn’t push her away. He turned around and hit her full in the face. The blow wasn’t strong, but humiliating, sharp. Her ears rang, the world rocked, and Alina stumbled and collapsed on the floor next to one of the mattresses. Her cheek burned like fire.
A trickle of blood flowed from her split lip. The girls in the room froze. The crying stopped. A dead, ringing silence fell. Hamid, without even looking at her, left the room. The click of the lock was heard behind the door, dry, metallic, final. Alina lay on the cold floor, tasting her own blood in her mouth.
Her body ached, but her soul ached even more, crushed by the realization of being trapped. She looked at the girl sitting on the mattress. She looked away, in which there was no sympathy, no surprise, only endless scorched fatigue. “This is a mistake,” the only saving thought beat in her head. Just a monstrous mistake.
Tomorrow everything will become clear. Tomorrow Mark will come and take me away from here. But somewhere in the depths of her soul, behind the deafening ringing in her ears and the pain in her split lip, she already knew that Mark would not come tomorrow, or ever . And this was only the beginning. The silence, thick as cotton wool, was pierced by a quiet, cracked voice.
“You shouldn’t have shouted,” said one of the girls, the one sitting on the far mattress. She didn’t look at Alina. Her gaze was fixed on the wall. He doesn’t like this. Now it will be worse. Alina didn’t answer. She sat up slowly, pressing her palm to her split lip. Painful, but the humiliation even more acute.
She turned her gaze to the second girl, the one who was crying. Now her Her shoulders didn’t shake. She simply sat, hugging her knees and looking at the floor with an absolutely blank expression. The tears dried. Thus began the first day, and then came the second, indistinguishable from the first, the third. The tenth. Time lost its usual outlines.
Morning, afternoon, evening. It turned into a viscous gray mass, divided into two states: before and after. Before the key turned behind the door and after, before Hamid’s arrival and after. At first, Alina tried to count the days, scratching tiny lines on the wall behind the mattress with her fingernail, hiding them from prying eyes.
She reached thirty-se. On the thirty-eighth day, she was caught doing this. Hamid didn’t say a word. He simply grabbed her by the hair, dragged her out into the hallway and locked her in a cramped closet without light or water. For how long? A day? Two? When the door opened, she no longer remembered what day of the week it was and What stroke was supposed to be next.
She no longer counted. Days merged into a week, weeks into a month. The villa was her universe, and the room her cage. Work turned out to be an endless series of humiliations. They were taken out at night to expensive hotels, to private parties on yachts, to secluded penthouses, where laughter was accompanied by expensive whiskey, and touches were sticky and indifferent.
They were taught to smile, to be silent, and to do as they said. Any disobedience was punished. First by deprivation of food, then by blows. Alina tried to resist once. In the second month of captivity, when they brought her to the next client, she sank her teeth into his well-groomed hand.
The consequences were swift and cruel. She was beaten not there, but later at the villa. Methodically, without anger, like they punish a disobedient animal. After that, something broke inside her. Rage gave way to apathy. She began to disappear. First, the weight disappeared, in the first year she She lost 20 kg. Her once athletic, toned figure, which she was so proud of, was replaced by angular thinness. Clothes hung like bags.
Dark, almost purple circles settled under her eyes . Then the tears disappeared. She had cried them all out in the first months. Now, even when the pain was unbearable, her eyes remained dry. Crying required strength, but she had no strength. Only a dull indifference remained.
Her personality was disintegrating into fragments. She forgot the sound of her mother’s laughter, forgot the taste of her grandmother’s tranics, forgot what she and Katya had argued about before she left. These memories caused too much pain, and her brain, protecting them, hid them deeper and deeper, until they turned into faded, silent pictures.
Thin white scars appeared on her arms and back . Memories of Hamid’s educational measures. She saw faces change. Some girls were taken away, and they never returned. Where, she didn’t know. Maybe they were sold further, Maybe something worse. New ones were brought in to take their place, just as frightened, crying, believing in the mistake she once had been.
Alina looked at them and said nothing. Warning them was pointless and dangerous. Hope was poison that only prolonged the agony. A year, a year and a half, and 584 days passed. It was during this period that Hamid introduced a new rule. As a reward for obedience, once a month each girl was allowed to call home. For exactly one minute.
He held the phone himself, turning it on speakerphone. She had to say that everything was fine, that there was a lot of work, that she would be back soon. Any deviation from the script and the call was cut off, and the reward was canceled for several months to come. Alina failed the first such call. Hearing Alina’s desperate daughter on the phone , she simply burst into tears and couldn’t utter a word.
Hamid immediately hung up. For the next few months, she learned, learning to speak to the dead. in a mechanical voice. Mom, hi. It’s me, Alina. Lord, where are you? We’re going crazy . I’m fine, I’m just really busy. My contract was extended. Daughter, why don’t you call? We… I can’t talk often. Roaming is expensive here.
I’ll be there soon . I love you. 60 seconds. Click. Silence. After each such call, she felt even emptier. She lied to her mother, killing her last hope for the truth and simultaneously killing the remnants of herself. She became the perfect doll, obedient, quiet, emotionless. Learned helplessness became her skin. She no longer believed in salvation.
No one will come, no one is looking. The world has forgotten about her. The day of the next call arrived. They were sitting in Hamid’s office. The room smelled of cheap coffee and leather. Alina sat on a chair opposite him, as if under interrogation. He dialed the number, put the phone to his ear. Hello, Mom’s voice aged, full of anxiety. Mom, hi.
It’s me,” Alina said the memorized phrase. Her gaze was empty and focused on the pattern of the Persian carpet under her feet. Alina, my daughter. I could hear tears in her mother’s voice . How are you, darling? I’m fine. I’m back to work soon. At that moment, the second phone vibrated in Hamid’s pocket . He winced with displeasure, took it out, and glanced at the screen. Something important.
He pressed the phone with his mother to his ear with his shoulder, and brought the second one to his lips, muffling the microphone with his palm. He turned away from Alina towards the window. A second, two, three. He doesn’t look, he doesn’t listen. And at that moment something strange happened.
In the scorched desert of her mind, where for many months there was nothing but fear and apathy, something stirred. A tiny, barely noticeable impulse. A thought. Not a plan, not a hope, but just a possibility. Her lips kept Her eyes were still slightly open, ready to utter the next memorized lie about being there soon. But the words stuck in her throat.
She looked at Hamid’s back, his tense shoulders. Her mother was still screaming on the speakerphone. Time stretched out, seconds turned into eternity. In her eyes, previously dull and lifeless, like cloudy glass, for the first time in 584 days a glimmer of light flashed. Sharp, cold, like a shard of ice, the problems of thought.
The silence that followed the broken call was deafening more than any scream. 37 seconds. Elena Sokolova sat on the edge of her bed in the Grodno apartment, clutching the cooling phone, as if it were the only connection not with her daughter, but with reality itself. “They’re keeping me here.” These words, spoken in a whisper, exploded the fragile world that she had built with such difficulty over the past year and a half.
The first two months after The days of Alina’s departure were filled with a false calm. The short calls her daughter made every few weeks sounded distant and rehearsed. ” Mom, the connection is bad, I’m busy, I’m tired.” Yes, everything is fine. Elena believed it because she wanted to believe it.
She attributed it all to adaptation, to her new life, to being busy. In the third month, the calls became even less frequent, and Alina’s voice became mechanical. Then the first needle of anxiety settled in Elena’s heart. She remembered her daughter’s promise to call every day.
She remembered the pendant Katya had given her . Where was it now? In the sixth month, when Alina was supposed to return and help her choose a new kitchen, the calls stopped completely. And then Elena’s world shattered. She went to the police station in Minsk, where she used to live with her husband. She was received by Major Petrov, a man with steely eyes and a stack of identical folders on his desk.
He listened to her fresh howl with indifference, tapping his pen on a notepad. “Sokolova, Alina, “20 years,” he muttered. “She flew to Dubai to work voluntarily, an adult.” ” She’s been in touch for three months now,” Elena’s voice trembled. Before that, the calls had been strange, unfamiliar.
Elena Viktorovna, the major sighed and put down his pen. Nine out of ten such disappearances are found six months later with a rounded belly and a new husband. Your daughter found herself a sheikh, lives happily ever after, and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Believe me, my daughter is not like that,” Elena cried out. “She was deceived.
The employer company is Elisan Events. Its website no longer exists. This means the company went bankrupt, and the girl found another job. We cannot put an international search on an adult who probably simply doesn’t want to communicate with you. The report was accepted. We will keep this in mind. This was the first blow against the wall of indifference. But it did not break it.
It turned her fear into a cold, ringing rage. Elena began her own investigation. She sold her father’s old Volga and withdrew all the modest savings she’d put aside for that very kitchen. She spent the entire night at her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She found Mark’s profile.
It had been deleted, but traces remained, likes, comments. She compiled a list of hundreds of girls from Belarus, Russia, and Ukraine who had contacted him. She wrote to each one: “Hello, my name is Elena.” My daughter Alina flew to work in Dubai at the invitation of this man and disappeared. Do you know anything?” The responses were few and far between. No, I don’t know.
He wrote to me, but I blocked him. Woman, don’t mess around. She hired a private detective in Minsk. He took $5,000, almost all she had, and a month later provided a three-page report. It said that Alina Sokolova had indeed crossed the UAE border, and that was where her trail was lost. She probably changed her name and was leading a secluded life, the detective concluded, avoiding her gaze. Elena stopped sleeping.
She had lost weight. Dark circles had formed under her eyes . Sometimes, passing by the mirror in the hallway, she would stop and look at the reflection of an unfamiliar woman with a dull look and gray hair. The mirror showed her, Elena, but in this reflection there was no longer the mother who had seen her daughter, her shining self, off to the airport .
Alina was not in this mirror . She wrote Anti-slavery volunteer organizations. They politely sympathized with her, added Alina’s name to their databases, and advised her to wait. Wait. For 584 days, she had done nothing but wait. And now, after that whisper on the phone, the wait was over. They’re holding me here. It wasn’t a guess, it was a fact.
Elena opened her laptop again. Her hands were shaking, but her mind was clearer than ever. She wasn’t looking for Alina anymore. She was looking for a way to get her out. She typed everything into the search engine . Rescue from slavery in Dubai, help for victims of trafficking in the UAE. Missing girl in Dubai story.
The hours blurred into one endless goal. And suddenly, on the tenth page of the search, on an old, abandoned forum, she came across a message from three years ago. My daughter was rescued. Thanks to Amir. And then came bits and pieces of a story terrifyingly similar to theirs. A fake job, a villa, a confiscated passport.
Elena’s heart began to pound. She She found a woman’s profile on a social network. Marina Orlova. In the photos, a smiling woman next to her daughter, very similar to her Alina before leaving, her fingers didn’t obey. She typed a message. Marina, hello. My name is Elena Sokolova. My daughter is in the same trouble, in Dubai.
I saw your message on the forum. Please help. Who is Amir? She sent it and froze, not daring to breathe. A minute passed, 5-10. Suddenly, a reply came. Short, businesslike, but the pain she had experienced was felt in every word. Elena, I understand, write it down. His name is Amir Hassan. He is not an official or a policeman. He is a volunteer.
He helps people like our girls. Here is his WhatsApp number. Say that you are from Oksana Orlova’s mother. He will understand. And don’t waste a second. Elena copied the number on a piece of paper with a trembling hand. The numbers danced before her eyes. It was Something more than just a clue. In 584 days of despair, struggling with indifference and empty hopes, this was the first thread, thin, almost invisible, but it led from her dark Grodno apartment straight to the stuffy hell where her daughter was being held. She looked at her phone.
The call was still on the screen: 37 seconds. Duration, an eternity. The number was unavailable, but now she had another number, a name and a crumb of what she had long lost. Hope. Elena’s finger hovered over the green WhatsApp call icon. The piece of paper with the handwritten number trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind. Amir Hasan.
The name was alien, almost alien, but now it contained her entire universe. She pressed call. The beeps. Long, drawn-out, each one echoed like a blow to her temples . One, two. On the third ring, someone answered on the other end. ” Yes,” said a male voice. Calm, low, with a light, barely perceptible accent.
No hello or I’m listening, just yes. Elena swallowed, trying to stop the tremor in her own voice. Hello, my name is Elena Sokolova. I’m from my mother, Oksana Orlova. The code phrase sounded awkward, like a memorized role in a school play. There was silence on the other end. For a second, Elena thought the connection had been lost, that this had all been a cruel mistake.
” Got it,” the voice finally said, and there was neither surprise nor sympathy in it, only cold businesslike efficiency. “Speak quickly and to the point. When was the call? Last night, at about 3:00 a.m. our time, Elena blurted out the number from which the call was made. She dictated the numbers starting with +971, which were already ingrained in her memory.
Duration: 37 seconds. What did she say? Literally, every word matters. She said, She barely closed her eyes, hearing that desperate whisper again. She said, “Mom, I can’t talk. They’re holding me here, help me.” Silence again, but this time it was different. Not empty, but filled with analysis. “They’re holding me here.
“She used that exact word,” Mir clarified. Yes, that exact word. Okay, that’s important. Amir’s voice remained even, but a steely edge had entered it. The number she’d called from was a dummy. A disposable SIM card, purchased without documentation. After your conversation, it was most likely destroyed.
It’s impossible to find it by number. The hope that had just fluttered into Elena’s chest sank like a stone. “But how?” “But,” Amir interrupted her . “37 seconds. That’s not enough for precise geolocation, but enough for the operator to detect a signal from the nearest cell tower. That gives us a sector. In Dubai, that could be a square kilometer covered in pitchforks, or it could be 10.
But that’s no longer a needle in a haystack. It’s just a needle in a very large room.” He spoke as if he were solving a math problem. “What should I do?” Elena whispered. “Nothing, wait.” Don’t call me, don’t write to me. I’ll contact you myself when there’s news, or when there isn’t.” You’ve done everything you could. Now it’s our turn.
Stay in touch. And before she could say thank you or, “Please find her,” a short, guttural tone sounded on the line. Elena lowered the phone. She sat in her kitchen in the city, where the clock hands pointed to early morning, and felt utterly powerless. She had handed over the only clue into the hands of a stranger 1,000 kilometers away.
And now all she could do was wait, torn between hope and horror. Thousands of kilometers from this kitchen, a stuffy, unseen pantry smelling of dust and pool chemicals, Alina lay on the concrete floor. Pain her only reality. After that call, Hamid didn’t ask anything. He simply burst into the room when the connection was lost, snatched the client’s phone from her hands, and looked at the screen. 37 seconds.
Outgoing call to a Belarusian number. His eyes darkened. He didn’t scream, he was silent. And that silence was more terrible than any scream. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the room, past the terrified faces of the other girls, down the stairs, into this storage room beneath her. He smashed the phone into the wall right in front of her face, sending shards of screen flying everywhere, and then he started hitting her.
Not like that time when she bit the client, not in rage, but methodically, coldly, punishing her disobedience, knocking the very thought of freedom out of her. Now she lay here. How much time had passed? Hours, maybe a day? Her lip was split again. A crimson bruise was blossoming on her ribs, and her head was pounding.
But through the pain, through the apathy that was trying to consume her again, a single question pierced through, sharp as a shard of glass. Had her mother heard? Did she understand? She didn’t know. She had made her move, putting her own life on the line. And now the game was over. She lost. The door creaked open, letting a blinding rectangle of light into the stuffy darkness .
Hamid stood in the doorway . He held a tray with a bowl of rice and a bottle of water. He set it on the floor, a little away from her. You will sit here until you understand your place. His voice was eerily calm. You thought you were smart. You thought you could fool me? There is no Belarus here. There is no your mother here.
There is only me and my rules. He looked down at her , a lump of flesh pressed against the floor. There was nothing in his gaze but contempt and a sense of absolute power. An important guest is arriving today, a very important one. He likes fresh ones. So get yourself together. He nodded at the water. You have an hour, he turned to leave.
At that moment, Alina realized that this was the end. She couldn’t stand another one. She couldn’t. The last spark in her was dying out. She looked at his back, and in her empty eyes There was nothing but defeat in his eyes. It was at that moment that the silence of the villa was shattered by a deafening crash.
It wasn’t a knock on the door, it was the sound of a broken lock and a battering ram hitting the massive front door. Hamid froze mid-step. His face contorted with bewilderment. Shouts came from outside, sharp, guttural in Arabic, and then a clear command in English, amplified by a megaphone. Dubai police.
Everybody on the ground. Hands up on the ground now. Hamid’s face changed color in a split second from bewilderment to animal horror. He turned around. His gaze darted to his knee lying in the darkness of the storage room, and pure hatred blazed in his eyes. He understood. The stomping of dozens of heavy boots echoed across the first floor.
The sound of breaking glass. Another scream. Hamid took a step back into the storage room, slamming the door behind him and cutting off the light. In the complete darkness, Alina heard him rummaging hand on the wall, and then a dry click. The click of the bolt, locking them both in this concrete box while the assault unfolded outside.
In the absolute darkness, the sound of the bolt seemed deafening, like a gunshot. It cut off the outside world, leaving Alina alone with the source of her nightmares. The air, thick with dust and fear, became even denser. She heard Hamid’s ragged, hoarse breathing next to her. He smelled of sweat and panic. The assault rumbled outside.
Dull thuds, the ringing of breaking glass and muffled screams merged into a chaotic symphony of liberation, which for Alina sounded like a death roar. She was locked with a beast, driven into a corner. “You,” Hamid hissed, and rage seethed in his voice. His hand found her shoulder in the darkness and pressed with the force of a steel vice.
Pain pierced her body, but Alina did not let out a sound Not a sound. She had long since forgotten how to scream. You did this, you [ __ ]. A blow to the wall next to her head forced her to press herself against the cold concrete. She felt his hot breath on her cheek. He was going to kill her right here, seconds before they were found.
It was fate’s final taunt. At that moment, the pantry door shook from a powerful blow from outside. Then another. The wood creaked. Hamid let out a bestial growl and recoiled from it, pressing himself against the opposite wall, as if trying to merge with it. A third blow blew out the door and its frame.
The blinding beam of a tactical flashlight struck the darkness, revealing two figures: a huddled, barely alive girl on the floor, and a man with eyes wild with terror. “Polis! ” Dontv,” the voice roared. Alina closed her eyes, covering her face with her hand. The light was unbearable. It burned her retinas, accustomed to the dim light.
She heard a scuffle, Hamid’s short cry, the sound of a blow, and the snap of handcuffs. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. The silhouette of a man in uniform stood in the doorway . He lowered the flashlight, and his voice became softer. “It’s over.” “You are safe now,” he said. “You are safe.” But she didn’t feel safe.
She felt nothing but a throbbing pain in her ribs and a deafening emptiness. The man in uniform came closer, and she saw a patch with the UAE flag on his sleeve. He extended his hand to her. Alina looked at it, not understanding what she was supposed to do. He said something into the radio, and a moment later a female medic with a large bag poked her head into the storage room .
She knelt down in front of Alina. “My name is Fatima. I will help you. “What’s your name?” she asked in broken Russian. Alina was silent. She couldn’t remember how her own name sounded. Fatima gently touched her cheek, and Alina flinched, sliding back until her back hit the wall. Pain and sympathy flashed in the woman’s eyes. She slowly removed her hand.
“Okay, okay, we won’t touch you, just come with me. There’s no one else here who could hurt you.” She was led out of the villa, a warm blanket thrown over her shoulders. The night air of Dubai, which she imagined filled with the aromas of perfume and spices, smelled of burning and dust. The flashing blue and red lights of police cars blinded her eyes.
She saw other girls, crying, confused, being loaded into cars. She didn’t recognize any of them, or didn’t want to recognize them. At the hospital, she was found chained to a pipe in the basement, brutally beaten. Diagnosis It sounded like a death sentence: third- degree exhaustion, multiple hematomas, broken ribs, dehydration.
But the most terrible diagnosis was the one they didn’t write in the medical records. It was written in her eyes. Three months later, Elena Sokolova stood in the arrivals hall of Minsk Airport. She had aged 10 years. In her hands, she clutched a small bouquet of daisies, Alina’s favorite flowers. Every roar of the plane echoed in her heart like a hammer blow.
She was waiting not just for her daughter, she was waiting for her life to return. The automatic security doors swung open, and she appeared. Elena froze. It was not her, Alina. A thin, almost translucent girl with short, dull hair emerged from the doors. She walked slowly, hesitantly, her eyes lowered to the floor, as if afraid to step on her own shadow.
She was wearing a simple gray sweatshirt, the one issued at the rehabilitation center. Elena stepped forward, and her heart ached with pain. A thin white scar gleamed on her daughter’s cheek, just below her temple, like a white thread sewn into her skin. Another, larger one crossed her eyebrow. “Alinushka,” Elena whispered, rushing toward her.
She hugged her daughter, holding her fragile, bony body close, and began to sob. But Alina didn’t hug her back. Her arms hung limply at her sides. She wasn’t crying. She simply stood there, tense as a string, looking somewhere over her mother’s shoulder. “Daughter, it’s all over.” “You’re home,” Elena whispered, stroking her hair.
Alina slowly pulled away. She looked up at her mother. The eyes of an old woman in the body of a twenty-two-year-old girl. There was no joy or relief in them, only a desert scorched to the ground. “Let’s go,” she said quietly, almost soundlessly . These were her first words to her mother, not over the phone. A year later, in Grodno.
The new kitchen never appeared. All the savings, the money from the sale of the dacha and a huge bank loan went on private detectives, lawyers in Dubai. Tickets and months of expensive rehabilitation. The Sokolov family lived in debt, but that was not the worst thing. The worst thing was the silence in their apartment.
The silence that oppressed, sucked the air. Alina almost never left her room. For her, the house became a new villa, a prison with familiar wallpaper. She could not sleep at night. She was tormented by nightmares. She shuddered at any sharp sound, She shied away from the men’s voices on TV.
Katya tried to come over, but their conversations never really clicked. 584 days lay between them, days Alina couldn’t talk about, and Katya didn’t dare ask. Justice turned out to be as illusory as Mark’s promise. Hamid was tried. He received two years in prison for unlawful detention and causing bodily harm. Not for slavery, not for rape, not for ruined lives.
Two years after serving his sentence, he faced deportation. Mark, the digital recruiter, was never found. His Instagram account disappeared the day after Hamid’s arrest, vanishing online like a mirage in the desert. He was probably already looking for a new victim with a stunning personality. Sometimes Elena would go into her daughter’s room and see her sitting on the bed, mechanically fingering an old, faded pendant that Katya had once given her.
She didn’t wear it, she just held it in her hands. Today, Alina was standing by the window. Behind A fine Belarusian rain fell on the glass, washing away the dust from the gray panel houses. She looked at the playground, at passersby under umbrellas, at the world that had once been hers. But she was no longer a part of it.
She was a spectator, behind the thick, bulletproof glass of her memory. She had survived, but her rescue was not a happy ending. It was the beginning of another war. A war with the shadows in her head, with scars that remained not only on her skin, but deep in her soul. Scars that the hot sand of Dubai had left on her life. Alina had survived, but her life, like the life of her family, was destroyed forever.
She was one of the few who managed to return. According to the UN, more than 25,000 people from Eastern Europe become victims of human trafficking every year. 90% of recruiters are never brought to justice. Behind every beautiful picture on social media, there can be a trap. Sometimes the price of a dream is your freedom and your life.
Alina continued to look out the window. There was nothing reflected in her eyes . Absolutely nothing. Yeah.
