—A true moment from 1968, remembered in my upcoming book,
The Diary of PARALLEL SERENDIPITY: A Love Story Beyond Imagination
Coming soon – based on a true story.

Sometimes, life hangs on a single name being called—or not.

In this scene from my book, I relive the moment I thought it was all over. Maybe you remember it. Maybe you were there. If you passed through the same holding centre—or if this stirs a memory from your own journey—I would truly love to hear from you.

Excerpt from The Diary of PARALLEL SERENDIPITY

On the Edge of Fate: A Morning that Could Change Everything

Three days had passed, each one stretching endlessly, filled with unease and unanswered questions. The dimly lit room, with its cracked walls and flickering bulb, seemed to press down on me, the shadows shifting like restless spirits.

At 6 a.m., the silence shattered as the clock’s chime reverberated through the quarters, marking the start of another day teetering on the edge of fate. The door creaked open, and two police officers entered, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. The room, already suffocating, shrank under their presence. One clutched a worn folder, the edges frayed from overuse, and my stomach twisted. I knew what it contained—the list of names. Each one a sentence, a destiny decided by the ominous weight of the Interpol interviews. Luigi had assured me, with a confidence I desperately clung to, that I wouldn’t be on it. But promises faltered in the face of fear, and I couldn’t shake the gnawing certainty that my name would be called.

The officers began, their voices cold and mechanical, slicing through the air like a guillotine.

“Kovacs Laslo…”
“Farrago Peter…”
“Jakub Alexander…”
“Marek Fibbers…”

Each name struck like a blow to the chest, and the room seemed to close in further with every syllable. I gripped the edge of the bunk bed, my knuckles pale and bloodless, and my breaths shallow and rapid. My heart raced, each beat pounding in my ears as if it sought to drown out the dread. And then, it came.

“Alex Család,” the officer announced, his voice sharp and final. The words sliced through me like ice.

My body reacted instinctively, jerking upward from the top bunk. My vision blurred for a moment, disbelief and panic colliding in my mind. My legs felt unsteady as I landed on the floor, trembling and cold. This couldn’t be happening. Luigi had promised. But promises were meaningless now.

I forced myself forward, each step heavy as if the air had thickened around me. I approached the officer, my eyes darting between his expressionless face and the folder in his hand. My lips parted to protest, to beg, but no sound escaped.

As I stood there, every second stretched into eternity. The room fell silent, save for the faint shuffle of paper as the officer double-checked the list. I searched his face, desperate for a glimmer of mercy or even a mistake, but his features remained cold and impenetrable. The world seemed to tilt, and I felt like a man on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the ground to crumble beneath me.

“No, this can’t be right!” I shouted, my voice breaking with fear. “Please, you have to call Luigi! He knows I’m not supposed to be on that list!”

The officer’s face grew stern. “He’s not available today,” he replied coldly, turning his back on me.

I felt a wave of terror wash over me, and I stepped closer, my voice getting louder. “You don’t understand! My life is at risk! You can’t just ignore this! Call him now! Call Luigi!” My words came out in a frantic rush, almost a scream, as I held onto the last bit of hope.

“Enough!” the officer snapped, but I couldn’t stop.

“Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything! Just let me speak to Luigi!” My voice cracked with fear, my world closing in around me.

The officer’s patience was running out, but I didn’t care. “If you don’t call him, I could die! Do you hear me? I could die!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the small room, filled with the terror that was now clear to everyone.

As the noise of detainees being led back to their cells filled the air, a sense of defeat washed over me. Our shoelaces and belts were taken again, clear reminders of how helpless we were in this place. I felt the cold metal of the bunk against my back, my breaths coming in short, panicked bursts.

But amidst the chaos in my mind, a thought hit me like lightning: I couldn’t give up now. Not when my life was on the line.

My heart pounded as I looked around, searching for something—anything—that could make them listen. I grabbed the aluminium plate from my untouched breakfast, gripping it tightly. With sudden, fierce determination, I began banging it against the bars of my cell, each clang louder and more desperate than the last.

“Call Luigi! Call Luigi!” I shouted, my voice raw and full of desperation, cutting through the noise around me.

The officers looked over, clearly annoyed, but I didn’t care. I kept banging, kept shouting.
“He must know what’s happening! Call him now!”

The officer closest to me shouted back, “Stop that noise! He’s not here; he called in sick!”

But his words only made my panic worse. I hit the plate harder, refusing to be silenced.

“Call Luigi! You must call him!” I shouted again, my voice straining with every word.

The seconds felt like hours, each one making my fear grow that this could be the end. Time moved slowly, and it was around 10:30 a.m. when the officers started putting refugees onto a minibus. I refused to move, my feet stuck to the ground by fear and defiance.

I shouted again, my voice breaking, “Please, just call Luigi!”

Two officers grabbed me by the arms and dragged me toward the open door of the minibus, where the other refugees were already seated. My heart pounded in my ears, my mind racing with thoughts of what was coming…

Final Comment:

I’ll stop the story here—for now.
If you were there that day, maybe you remember the noise. Maybe you heard someone banging a metal plate against the bars, shouting for Luigi like his life depended on it. That was me.

And maybe—just maybe—you remember what happened next.

If this stirs a memory, if you lived through something similar, or if you knew someone who did, please reach out.
You can leave a comment or contact me privately.

Your voice matters.
Your story matters.
Let’s not forget what we lived through.

—Alex Család
From The Diary of PARALLEL SERENDIPITY: A Love Story Beyond Imagination