BASED ON A TRUE STORY
CHAPTER 1
Lila adjusted her school bag nervously as she stepped out of the little shop, the sun warm on her back. She had bought a few things for the week—some snacks, a notebook, and a pen her mother insisted she needed. She walked briskly, eager to get home before the evening heat sank in.
"Lila!" a voice called behind her.
She turned to see him—her brother's friend—smiling like nothing had ever happened between them. He leaned casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. "Hey, I was just about to leave. Thought I'd catch you before you went home."
"Hi," she said cautiously, tightening her grip on the bag. Something about his smile felt off.
"I need a favor," he said, stepping closer. "I'm supposed to pick up something from a friend's house, but… well, I can't exactly do it alone. You'll help me, right?"
Lila hesitated. She trusted him because he was her brother's friend. But a small knot of unease twisted in her stomach.
"Uh… I guess," she said, reluctantly.
"Great! It won't take long, I promise."
She followed him, the familiar streets of their neighborhood slipping past, the air warm with the scent of cooking fires and dust. He led her to a small, seemingly empty house. "Wait here," he said, glancing around. "The person should be back any minute."
Minutes passed. The quiet grew heavier. Lila shifted from foot to foot, unease crawling up her spine.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"Uh… he had to step out unexpectedly," he said, voice too calm. "Don't worry. We can just sit inside for a moment."
Something didn't feel right. Lila's instincts screamed at her. She opened her mouth to suggest leaving, but before she could, he grabbed her arm, twisting it slightly.
"Stop. Don't move," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
Her heart raced. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"You'll see," he said, and that smile—once friendly—turned cold.
The next moments were a blur. Lila froze, shock rooting her to the spot as he forced her into a corner. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth. "If you make a sound," he hissed, "I'll tell everyone you came to me. You'll be the one blamed, not me."
Tears pricked her eyes. Her chest tightened. She was only seventeen. How could this be happening? She had always been careful, always stayed out of trouble, and now… now she was trapped.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed. Lila felt like she was floating, disconnected from reality. When it was over, he stepped back, adjusting his shirt, pretending everything was normal.
"There," he said casually. "No one needs to know."
Lila stared at him, shaking. "Why… why are you doing this?" she whispered.
He laughed softly. "Because I can. And because if you tell anyone, you'll regret it. Remember that."
She ran home as fast as her legs could carry her, heart hammering. Her mother's sewing machine hummed in the background as Lila burst into the room.
"Mom… I—" Her words caught in her throat. How could she explain? How could she tell anyone?
Her mother looked up sharply. "What is it, Lila?"
"I… I'm fine," she stammered, forcing a weak smile.
Her mother nodded, returning to her sewing. Lila sank onto the floor, trembling. She was alone. Too young, too scared, and no one to trust.
Days passed. Lila tried to act normal, but everything had changed. The betrayal haunted her, and every glance at the friend who had once seemed harmless filled her with fear. She couldn't tell her mother—the woman worked from dawn till night, and Lila had always been terrified of her sharp tongue and strict rules.
"Mom," Lila said one evening, as her mother packed orders, "I… I think I need some new books for school."
Her mother glanced up briefly, then nodded. "Fine. But make it quick."
Alone, Lila cried silently into her pillow that night. How could life be so cruel? She had been bright, promising, and now… she felt broken.
Weeks passed. The friend continued visiting, smiling, pretending nothing had happened. He'd call her when her brother wasn't around, asking for favors, always watching her with those calculating eyes. Every time he stepped into the room, a chill ran down her spine. She had no one to tell, no one to help her.
Her mother was too busy. Her brother was at school. And Lila… Lila was trapped in silence, haunted by fear and shame.
One evening, she whispered into the darkness of her room, "God… why me?"
No answer came. Only the steady hum of her mother's sewing machine, and the echo of a life she hadn't chosen, but was forced to endure.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark remained. A part of her refused to die quietly. Even in fear, even in shame, that spark—her spirit—waited, ready for the day it could rise.