The No. 1 reason for me to support and help launch Telegram was

Host: The sky above Berlin was the color of metal — dull, unforgiving, and cold. The rain came in thin, precise lines, like it had been programmed rather than born. Inside a dim, old warehouse turned coffee bar, the air buzzed faintly with the hum of machines and conversation. The walls were lined with servers, old screens, and peeling posters that read “Freedom Needs Code.”

Jack sat near the back, his face lit by the blue glow of a laptop, his grey eyes fixed, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, almost militant pattern on the keys. Jeeny arrived quietly, her coat still damp, her hair sticking to her cheeks. She slid into the seat across from him without a word.

The sound of rain merged with the clicking of keyboards, a symphony of modern isolation.

Jeeny: “You’ve been on that screen for hours, Jack.”

Jack: “It’s safer than the world outside.”

Jeeny: “You say that like it’s a fact, not a fear.”

Jack: “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

Jeeny: “What are you even working on this time?”

Jack: “Encryption protocols. Signal chains, metadata masks, trace obfuscation — the usual bedtime stories for people like me.”

Jeeny: “You sound like Durov.”

Jack: (looks up) “You mean Pavel Durov — Telegram’s founder?”

Jeeny: “Yes. He said, ‘The No. 1 reason for me to support and help launch Telegram was to build a means of communication that can't be accessed by the Russian security agencies, so I can talk about it for hours.’”

Host: The quote seemed to hang in the air, vibrating like an electric current between them. Jack’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable, like a man who’d just heard his own confession spoken aloud by someone else.

Jack: “Then maybe I’d have gotten along with him. We both know privacy isn’t a luxury — it’s the last defense against tyranny.”

Jeeny: “Or the first excuse for hiding.”

Jack: “You really think that’s what it is? Hiding? When you encrypt, you’re not hiding — you’re protecting. You’re resisting the hand that always wants to own your thoughts.”

Jeeny: “But what happens when resistance becomes detachment? When we’re all just ghosts whispering through machines, afraid to touch the world because someone might be listening?”

Jack: “Then at least we’re free ghosts.”

Host: A burst of thunder rolled across the sky, and the lights in the warehouse flickered. The barista, half-asleep behind the counter, adjusted a flickering lamp that bathed their table in amber light.

Jeeny: “You call it freedom, but it feels like isolation. Telegram, Signal, all of it — we’re talking, but we’re not connecting. Durov wanted a way to speak without fear, but we’ve turned it into a way to speak without presence.”

Jack: “Presence isn’t in the body, Jeeny. It’s in the truth of the word. You think the people protesting in Moscow, sending encrypted messages to organize, don’t feel connected? That’s the only reason they’re still alive.”

Jeeny: “And yet, every message they send is a confession — not of guilt, but of faith. They believe the code will save them. They trust the math more than they trust men.”

Jack: “Because men betray. Code doesn’t. Governments twist, corrupt, invade — but the algorithm, if it’s built right, protects without prejudice.”

Jeeny: “Until someone writes a better one to break it. Don’t you see, Jack? Security is a chase, not a shelter.”

Host: The steam from their cups rose, curling like ghosts in the cold air. Jack watched the rain slide down the glass, tracing the same path over and over — like a pattern, or a loop that refused to end.

Jack: “You ever wonder why Durov had to flee Russia? Why he left his company, his home, his life — just to build a tool? Because he knew what it’s like to be silenced. To have security agents show up and demand your users’ data, your voice. Privacy wasn’t a concept to him. It was survival.”

Jeeny: “And what about the people who use those same tools to spread lies, to plan violence, to hide their crimes? Do they get to call it freedom too?”

Jack: “They get to call it choice. And the moment we start deciding who deserves privacy, we’re already halfway to dictatorship.”

Jeeny: “So there are no limits?”

Jack: “Only one — control must never belong to the state. Once it does, truth becomes property.”

Jeeny: “And yet you trust the machine more than the human heart.”

Jack: “The heart can be broken, Jeeny. The machine — if built for freedom — can’t be corrupted by emotion.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why it’s dangerous. Because it can’t feel when it’s doing harm.”

Host: A pause. The kind that feels like a cliff between two minds. The rain had stopped, but the silence that replaced it was heavier.

Jeeny: “You know, my brother was a journalist. He used encrypted apps too. He believed in them — said they were the only way to speak without fear. Until the government found him anyway. It wasn’t the lack of encryption that betrayed him. It was a friend who did. That’s the flaw, Jack. It’s never just the system — it’s us.”

Jack: (quietly) “I’m sorry.”

Jeeny: “Don’t be. Just understand — no amount of code will ever make truth safe. Because truth isn’t safe.”

Jack: “But it should be.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But that’s not the world we live in. You can encrypt the words, but not the heart. Sooner or later, it still bleeds.”

Host: Jack looked down, the blue glow from his laptop now flickering weakly, as if even the machine was tired. He closed the lid, and the room fell into dim amber light.

Jack: “You’re right about one thing — I do trust machines more than people. But only because I’ve seen what people do when they think no one’s watching.”

Jeeny: “And I’ve seen what they become when they think no one’s listening. Both are lonely, Jack. Both are lost.”

Jack: “So what do you suggest? We just open the doors, let the wolves back in?”

Jeeny: “No. We build walls — but we remember why we built them. We encrypt not just to hide, but to preserve the human beneath the code. Because if we forget the human, the system becomes the prison it was meant to protect us from.”

Host: The rain began again, softer this time, like a memory returning. A bicycle bell rang faintly outside; someone laughed in the distance. The city was awake, wired, and watching.

Jack: “You think Durov ever regrets it? Creating something that can be used for both liberation and lies?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But that’s the burden of the creator, isn’t it? To know your invention has no soul, and still hope it serves one.”

Jack: “So you think he built Telegram out of hope?”

Jeeny: “No. Out of fear. But hope grew inside it anyway. That’s what all resistance is — fear that learned how to speak.”

Host: Jack smiled, faintly — the kind of smile that hurts. He reached for his cup, but it was empty. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered in the window, fragile, yet still.

Jack: “You always have a way of turning paranoia into poetry.”

Jeeny: “And you have a way of confusing control with freedom.”

Jack: “Maybe they’re the same thing — depending on who’s holding it.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s make sure it’s never the wrong hands.”

Host: The lights outside shifted, illuminating the wet street. The servers hummed, steady, like a heartbeat in the machine. Jack stood, zipping his jacket, the rain now a fine mist on the glass.

Jeeny: “Where are you going?”

Jack: “To check the firewall.” (He paused, then looked at her.) “And maybe to remember what it’s supposed to be protecting.”

Host: As he walked into the rain, Jeeny watched, her eyes following the faint reflection of his figure in the puddles. In that moment, the city itself seemed to breathe — half digital, half human, both vulnerable and free.

The camera would pull back, through the windows, through the glow of servers, through the rain, until the world became a blur of light and code.

And somewhere, in that blur, freedom and fear merged — inseparable, eternal, human.