chapter 8- The fear

Hema tightened her grip on her bag, feeling the worn leather dig into her palm. She glanced around once more, her heartbeat accelerating as the shadows seemed to grow taller with every step she took. 

The junction still felt so far away, like an oasis just out of reach. The faint glow of a distant streetlight was the only comfort she had in the oppressive darkness of the road. Every sound seemed amplified: the rustling leaves, the faint hum of insects, and her own hurried footsteps, which she swore were being echoed.

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of exhaustion and unease. She hadn't eaten all day, her legs felt like lead, and her head throbbed faintly from the stress of the day. "Just get to the junction," she muttered under her breath, willing herself to stay calm. "There'll be autos there. You'll be home soon."

But the unsettling feeling of being followed refused to leave her. It wasn't loud—just the faintest shuffle of feet behind her, stopping whenever she stopped. She whipped her head around, but the street was empty save for the shifting shadows of trees. Her throat felt dry as she swallowed hard, forcing her feet to keep moving.

By the time she neared the junction, her relief was palpable. The dimly lit area was no bustling city corner, but the tea stall and the faint presence of a couple of men. she noticed them—three teenage boys standing at the edge of the corner. They were leaning casually against a wall, their cigarettes glowing faintly in the darkness, and their voices carried over the stillness of the night.

The dim light revealed their disheveled appearance—messy hair, torn shirts, and cigarettes hanging lazily from their lips. They were laughing loudly, the smell of alcohol thick in the air.

Hema slowed her steps instinctively. Her eyes flicked toward them, but she quickly looked away, praying they wouldn't notice her. She adjusted her dupatta over her shoulder and tightened her hold on her bag as she walked past.

"Where do you think you're going, madam?" one of them called out in Hindi, his voice slurred but menacing. "Walking all alone at this hour, huh? Want some company?"

Hema's spine stiffened, but she kept walking, refusing to meet their eyes. Her hand clutched the strap of her bag tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Another one of the teenagers let out a sharp whistle. "Arrey, look at her! So classy, so fancy. Where are you running off to, behenji?" His words dripped with mockery.

Hema's chest tightened, but she forced herself to ignore them. She kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, praying silently for an auto or anyone else to appear.

"Hey, madam," another one called out, his voice loud and slurred. Hema didn't respond, her pace quickening.

"Where are you going so late? Let me drop you" another one chimed in, his tone mockingly polite. "It's not safe, you know. You might run into some bad people."

The third boy let out a low chuckle. "She's acting all shy. Come on, madam, we're just trying to help."

Hema gritted her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Ignore them," she thought. "Just keep walking." But the boys didn't stop.

"Hey, don't walk away! We're talking to you," one of them shouted, and before Hema could react, she felt a tug on her dupatta. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to see one of the boys holding the edge of her shawl. He grinned, lifting it to his nose and taking a deep, exaggerated sniff.

"Ah, such a sweet fragrance," he jeered, waving the dupatta in the air. "Madam, you must tell me where you buy your perfume!"

The other two burst into laughter, their voices echoing in the night. "She's got style," one of them said, eyeing her from head to toe. "But no sense of humor, it seems."

Hema's fear quickly turned to anger. She snatched the dupatta back from his hand, her eyes blazing. "How dare you?" she said, her voice shaking but firm. Hema's hands balled into fists. "Apologize," she demanded, her voice rising.

The boys stared at her, momentarily taken aback by her boldness. But the surprise quickly turned to anger. "Apologize?" the first boy repeated mockingly. "You think you're some kind of queen? Telling us what to do?"

 "What's wrong with you? Don't you have any shame?" She said in fury.

The boy who had grabbed her shawl stepped closer, a smirk playing on his lips. "Shame? Why should we feel ashamed? You're the one walking around at this hour like it's the middle of the day. Who do you think you are?"

"Leave it," she said sharply, her voice trembling with fury.

The teenager smirked, his grip on the dupatta tightening. "Oh, come on, don't be so rude. We're just having some fun."

The other two laughed, one of them taking a step closer. "Don't worry, madam. We'll take good care of you tonight."

Without thinking, Hema's palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, resounding slap. The sound cut through the night like a whip, silencing the laughter instantly.

The boy staggered back slightly, his hand flying to his cheek. For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence. Then his face twisted into a snarl. "You b****!" he shouted. "You think you can humiliate me like that?"

The second boy, who had been leaning against the wall with a bottle of alcohol in his hand, stepped forward. He smashed the bottle against the wall with a loud crash, the glass shattering into jagged pieces. He held the broken neck of the bottle tightly, pointing it toward her. "Let's see how tough you really are now," he sneered, his voice low and menacing.

Hema took a step back, her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes darted around, searching for an escape route, but the boys had closed in around her.

"Stay back!" she shouted, holding her bag in front of her like a shield. Her voice wavered, but she refused to let them see the fear that gripped her.

The boy with the bottle smirked, taking another step closer. "What will you do, madam? Call for help? No one is around "

Hema's breath caught in her throat.

The third boy, who had been quiet until now, let out a low chuckle. "You shouldn't have slapped him, madam. That was a mistake."

Hema's mind raced, trying to think of a way out. The junction was just a few steps away, but it might as well have been miles. She glanced toward the tea stall, but the shopkeeper had disappeared, and the faint glow of headlights in the distance offered little hope.

The boy with the bottle raised it higher, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Let's see if you can slap me too," he taunted.

The boy who got slapped stopped him and said, "let me handle her" taking a glass bottle on the ground and stepping towards her.

Hema's legs felt like they were made of lead, but she forced herself to move, stumbling backward as the boy lunged toward her. The emptied liquor bottle gleamed in the dim light, and her heart leaped into her throat as she realized he was aiming for her head.

"Stop it!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty street. But her plea fell on deaf ears.

As the boy swung the bottle, time seemed to slow. Hema's eyes widened, her breath caught in her chest. She raised her arm instinctively to shield herself, her bag falling to the ground with a dull thud. The other two boys laughed, their cruel voices ringing in her ears as she braced herself for the impact.