ROZ DESiGN ⓇⓄⓏ

I don’t sleep like I used to.
Thoughts arrive before I form them.
Emotions fall apart mid-class.
Nothing fits. Not anymore.

This is Ajialuna International School, Riyadh.
Nice walls. Clean halls.
But inside, it’s quiet violence.
You walk. You nod. You disappear.

They interfere.
Not spirits. Not ideas.
Real operators.
From Saudi military-linked telecom systems.
From Interior Ministry electronic warfare arms.
From surveillance-linked intelligence departments.
They test things.
On us.

Sometimes I forget how I got to my seat.
Sometimes I hear a voice saying, “We’re inside.”
Sometimes I think I’ve already been rewritten.

I can’t tell my classmates.
I can’t tell the staff.
I can’t tell my parents.
I’ve tried.

If I had known this would happen —
I would have never come here to learn.
I’m still here.
But not all of me.