Norbanu speaks with her daughter's boyfriend, from an internet hut in Thae Chaung village. He has broken his promise to send for her daughter, Norbanu tells him, so she will now marry her off to another man.
In this teeming camp for displaced Rohingya Muslims in western Myanmar, it's easy to overlook the internet huts. The raw emotion they generate is much harder to ignore.
What emerges is an intimate portrait of the Rohingya, a mostly stateless people living in grim conditions in Rakhine State.
There is an endless stream of mothers, all struggling to piece together what remains of families torn asunder by poverty, exploitation and distance.
Robizar is speaking to her 18-year-old son Abdul Rahman, who left by boat ten months ago. He now lives with his father in Malaysia, so Robizar doesn't have to worry about Abdul's safety. She just misses him, badly.
“Son, I can't tell you how it feels to hear your voice,” she says. Then she buries her head in her arms and weeps.