The shrill ring of the phone broke her reverie—solemn shadows danced across the walls of her tiny west‑London flat. She had spent the better part of a decade in nightly video calls with him, “Bobby Jandu,” a cardiologist whose soothing voice had become the anchor of her lonely heart. His face flickered on the screen, a beacon in her insomnia‑plagued world, each word punctuated by empathy. Her life felt fractured, hollow—until he appeared. At night she could almost feel his presence, like a candle’s warmth at the edge of a dark hallway.
Detective Langley answered with quiet intensity when she finally dialed 911. She was near tears, breath trembling. “This is not a hoax,” she insisted, voice cracking. The story had begun in 2009, splitting into whispered confessions and bedside laments. He’d said he was in danger—shot at home, under witness protection, battling a brain tumour. Each excuse was richly emotional, plausible. She felt she was the only person who truly knew him. Their bond deepened into something she thought unconditional, unwavering.
Police initially classified it as a domestic drama—unverified online relationship. But when she hired a private investigator in 2018, that changed everything. The detective uncovered a terrible discovery: Bobby didn’t exist. The carefully crafted persona—complete with Facebook friends, LinkedIn profile, and university history—was fabricated. It was all a mansion of mirrors built to deceive her.
But the twist was worse. The face behind the screen wasn’t a stranger from another continent: it was her cousin. Simran. The cousin she’d grown up with, shared childhood birthday cakes with, the one always at family gatherings. The betrayal cut like broken glass. She'd video‑chatted, cried, laughed—with someone she loved, who had nurtured her darkest times… while pretending to be someone else, over and over, for nearly ten years. She had shed love, tears, devotion on a ghost.
When confronted, Simran collapsed, confession flowing in broken sobs. She’d been lonely and lost, hiding behind a fictional identity that let her care for her cousin from a safe distance. “You loved me more as Bobby,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear that.” It was filmic, raw, tragic.
Police returned to her flat. The investigation that began with whispers in the night had become international. Scientists in shock: cyberpsychologists weighed in, analyzing how emotional bonds can eclipse logic. Sociologists labeled it a chilling case of identity theft used as affection. The media shouted about the “cousin catfish” saga—her story wrenching hearts worldwide.
She pressed charges. Simran moved out. The aftermath fragmented her—even as justice was sought, she mourned the cousin she thought she knew. Friends rallied. She returned to the dating scene, bracing herself against judgment and victim‑shaming. Online trolls accused her of gullibility; supporters called it a brave revelation. She told her side in media interviews and even got the case reopened by police in 2025, determined not to let the manipulation be washed away by time.
At home, some nights still her phone rings in the dark—but now it’s just a reminder of how fragile trust can be. She finally blocked all unknown numbers. Each breath in the stillness is a triumph.
Over time, something unexpected happened: she found a spark of humor in the horror. At a family reunion, when asked how things were, she quips, “Just avoiding long‑lost sweethearts disguised as cousins.” Laughter ripples around the table. The tension hasn’t fully left—but the pain has shifted. She found healing in irony and spoken truth.
In the end, the detective’s words echoed: “Mystery solved—but the heartbreak is real.” She rebuilt her world, slowly and deliberately, learning to trust her gut again. The faceless man, the soothing voice, the emotional highs—all gone. She now guards her heart firmly—but cautiously, with compassion.
Additional Real-Life Details:
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Kirat Assi’s catfishing nightmare first came to light via the Sweet Bobby podcast in 2021, which dissected the staggering nine-year deception that nearly destroyed her emotionally. Now, Netflix has brought her story to a global audience through a documentary—but this decade‑long manipulation wasn’t technically a crime under UK law.
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Between 2009 and 2018, Kirat genuinely believed she was in a loving and dangerous romance with “Dr Bobby Jandu,” a cardiologist—until it turned out every interaction across multiple social platforms, involving around 60 profiles, was orchestrated by a distant relative.
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When the relationship turned controlling—marked by accusations, isolation, and coercion—Kirat sought help and hired a private detective. The confrontation with the real Bobby Jandu on his Brighton doorstep shattered her illusions.
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Despite reporting it to the police in 2018, no criminal charges were filed because catfishing is not illegal in the UK. The case was closed in 2019 but later reopened amid scrutiny over the investigation’s handling.
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In 2020, Kirat successfully pursued a civil case, resulting in a private apology and substantial compensation. This is believed to be the UK’s first successful civil claim related to catfishing.
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Kirat bravely decided to share her pain publicly—despite victim-shaming and intense online trolling. She hopes the documentary will encourage other victims to speak out and push for stronger legal protections against emotional abuse in online relationships.
Conclusion
This eerie true story is not merely dramatized fiction—it reflects an actual catalogue of deception, emotional manipulation, police investigation, and a battle for justice. It's a tale of real human betrayal, resilience, and the painful journey toward healing in the aftermath of the longest-known catfishing case in UK history.
Sources:
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Sky News: “Sweet Bobby catfish victim Kirat Assi on taking her pain to the screen” Sky News
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The Sun coverage of the case The Sun
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Business Insider on the documentary and legal aftermath Business Insider
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The Times on broader context and implications The Times