I woke up to sunlight piercing through the window bars. My head throbbed—a lingering ache from last night’s hysterical crying, and perhaps the aftereffect of the sedatives forced down my throat by a cold-faced nurse upon my arrival.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was. I hoped that when I opened my eyes, I’d see the high ceiling of my bedroom in Menteng, or at least the ceiling of the luxury hotels I used to frequent. But what I saw was a plain white ceiling, low and unadorned.
I sat up with a sharp gasp.
This wasn’t a bedroom. It was a cell.
The room felt suffocatingly small, barely big enough to pace in. Its walls were painted a sickly pale cream. No paintings, no mirrors, no TV—nothing to distract or comfort. All I had was a single bed with stiff white sheets, a small desk bolte
