What does it mean to escape, when every day we step through invisible windows—on our browsers, in our private chats, across continents that vanish with a swipe? Stories of dramatic physical escapes, like defenestration to flee captivity, are terrifying and gripping, but less discussed are the modern, often digital, barriers that trap countless people. Scam farms, click factories, sprawling call centers: behind their faceless infrastructure are very real humans, negotiating the thin boundary between hope and entrapment.

Remarkably, the word 'window' links both the physical and digital acts of escape. In medieval times, windows represented both vulnerability and freedom—open shutters could let in armed invaders or fresh air. Today, our operating systems are named after windows; our social connections 'open windows' to the world. But a window can also be a prison, a barrier you can't break: how many notifications, pop-ups, or fake job offers have lured people onto dangerous paths?

What makes someone leap—whether out of a building, or away from the comfortable numbness of the digital? When do windows no longer provide a view, but become the only possible exit?

This article was inspired by the headline: 'Thai teen says he threw himself out of a window to escape Cambodia's brutal scam farms'.