the classroom smelled of chalk and rain-soaked pavement. Shadows clung to the corners like stubborn guests. Mina leaned closer, her pen tapping idly.
"Summer vacation's coming. What are your plans?" she asked, careless as ever.
Beaches, reunions—that's what everyone else counted down to. I had errands, work, responsibilities. Gia's school meeting today, then straight to my shift.
"As usual," I said flatly. "Work."
Mina sighed, half-pitying, half-frustrated. I laughed it off, but her reaction lingered.
Class began. An hour later, it ended. I shoved my notebooks in my bag, already planning the minutes I had left. Mina had her obligations—a social cage of parties and polished appearances. Mine was survival.
"I'm going," I said, already half-turned.
She kissed my cheek, composed, perfumed. I mirrored the gesture and ran down the hallway, calculating the minutes.
"Hi, Amara."
His voice froze me. A rose, a box of chocolates—cliché. His friends erupted in whistles. Faces turned. Heat crawled up my neck as I forced a smile.
"Thank you," I murmured. His eyes burned with a hunger disguised as devotion. I might have been charmed—if Mina hadn't warned me.
Playboy.
Collector.
Every gesture of charm, every whistle of approval reminded me how easily attention could become a trap.
"I have to go. I'm busy."
"Then let's go on a date first—"
"I didn't say yes."
His expression faltered. They never expect rejection.
"It's important," I said quickly, stepping back. "I have to go. Bye."
I didn't wait. His voice chased me, calling my name. I didn't look back. Men like him thrived on attention. I refused to feed it.
By the time I flagged down a ride, only fifteen minutes remained. The city lights blurred past as my pulse synced with the ticking watch. At school, I ran door to door until I found the right one.
Gia sat curled in herself, small hands trembling, shoulders shaking. She thought I hadn't come.
"Hey," I whispered, touching her arm. "I'm here."
Tears spilled freely as she threw herself into my arms.
"I thought you weren't going," she sobbed.
"I just arrived. I'm sorry. I'm late, but I'm here."
She clung tighter, then let go. Blotchy, swollen-eyed, calmer. I slipped back to my seat, glancing at her constantly.
The meeting ended. I thanked the teacher and walked out with Gia. Her grades were good. Pride lit her face. Until a boy appeared, handing her a folded paper.
I hated it—how easily innocence could be stolen. She ended the exchange quickly, slipping the letter in her pocket.
"We're leaving," she said, smiling as if harmless.
"Who was that?"
"Suitor," she replied naturally.
"You're too young," I said, jaw clenched.
"I'm pretty, like you. Of course, I have suitors."
Her reasoning hit harder than expected. I stopped. "There's nothing wrong with suitors. But entertaining them? You should be safe, studying. Focused."
She pouted. "But you have suitors too. I've seen it."
"Yes," I admitted. "But I know my priorities. Do you?"
Her shame was visible. I softened. "We're poor. Mom and Dad work themselves to the bone. We repay them with focus. Not distractions. Understand?"
Nodding, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
I kissed her temple. "Good. Come on. I'll buy ice cream." The way her eyes lit up at the simple offering, as if sugar could mend the fractures of her day, made something inside me ache.
She nibbled delicately at first, savoring each bite as though it were treasure, then broke into a smile so unguarded it stripped away every pretense of maturity she tried to wear.
By home, Grandma knitted quietly on the veranda. I kissed her cheek, reassured by her steady rhythm, then packed my essentials and the fake IDs Mina had prepared. Seventeen wasn't enough to survive alone.
"I'm going," I told Gia. "Take care of Grandma. Lock doors. Don't open for anyone."
"You say that every night," she muttered.
I applied makeup, stared at the stranger in the mirror—older, sharper, someone the world might believe belonged beyond my years. Bag in hand, I kissed Grandma's forehead and hugged Gia.
"I'll be back around midnight."
"Take care," she whispered.
The clock ticked: 7:35.
Night was waiting.
I pulled the bag over my shoulder, heart pounding—not from the night's cold, but from the sense that the darkness had already taken notice, and I was stepping into a story that might not let me leave.
Maybe the stories weren't myths. Maybe some shadows weren't meant to be ignored.
---
"It's good you arrived earlier than expected," our manager said, his tone brisk as he pulled me aside. "There's a special party tonight. They rented out the entire bar."
"Why didn't I know that?" I asked, glancing around as the music swelled and bodies moved busily in preparation.
"Duh? You didn't come last night." He rolled his eyes, impatient. "Don't ask questions—just get ready. The party starts at ten. Serve with respect, okay?" He patted my shoulder before striding off, leaving a trail of tension in his wake.
I didn't argue. I lifted a tray and began placing buckets of beer and hard liquor on the tables, weaving between chairs like I'd done countless times before. My hands were steady, but my pulse thumped a little faster than usual—tonight felt different.
The doors opened again, and a flood of people swept in—too many, too polished. Their faces weren't strangers. These weren't just casual partygoers; they carried names tied to money, family, old power. My chest tightened.
Tonight, wasn't ordinary. Tonight, reeked of something bigger.
I kept my head down and worked. My body already felt heavy with the night ahead.
"Are you okay?" Erickson's voice reached me as I sank briefly into a chair. His eyes searched mine.
"I'm fine." I forced a small smile. He meant well.
"When something bad happens later, don't get involved. Just stay away," he said, low, almost a whisper.
"I know." I scanned the room, restless, aware of the way the shadows stretched unnaturally under the neon lights.
"And if someone touches you, disrespects you—don't fight back. Just avoid it. Be careful, always."
I only nodded. I didn't need the reminder; I'd been doing this for a year. I knew the rules. I knew the dangers.
More people poured inside, laughter mixing with the bass. The air thickened with perfume, alcohol, and heat. Each wave of bodies pressed closer, making my stomach coil.
By ten, the bar was a storm. Shouts, songs, screams. I braced myself as one of my coworkers tapped my shoulder.
"Let's go."
I grabbed my tray.
While serving, I overheard fragments of conversation.
"Where's the birthday boy, Eros? Is he here yet?" a woman squealed. "God, he's so hot—I saw his photos on Instagram!"
Her voice pitched high, trembling with obsession. My brow furrowed. I slipped away before they noticed me listening. Whoever he was, I didn't want to know.
At the counter, the manager's gaze landed on me.
"How are you, Amara?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," I said evenly, trying not to show the unease I felt around people like this.
"Good. I thought someone asked for your number again." He sighed, repeating the speech I'd heard too many times. "If anyone bothers you, tell me. Stay out of trouble."
I nodded. Trouble had a way of finding me anyway.
Then the entrance burst alive.
"EROS!"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRO!"
The entire room shifted. Girls surged forward, pushing to see him.
I whispered, "What's happening?" but no one answered.
Delivering drinks, I caught a group of men staring—not at me, but at the hem of my skirt. My skin crawled. I spun away; jaw tight.
I'd grown used to it over the past year: the propositions, the men waiting outside with cars, the smiles that promised anything but kindness.
I refused them all. Always. I was only seventeen, but I knew enough. I knew how quickly charm turned to danger.