The city thrummed with festival energy that August night, but for me, the excitement masked a lurking danger. I was heading to work, hoping to steal a few moments of peace before my shift. As I settled into my seat, the air suddenly grew tense—a man approached, his presence unsettling in the hazy glow of the evening.

“It’s a nice night to die, isn’t it?” he said, his voice deceptively friendly. My instincts buzzed with warning. I stayed seated, every muscle tensed, unsure of what he wanted or what might come next. Then, his tone shifted, words more chilling and sharp: “I said, it’s a good night to die, don’t you think?!”

Panic battled with composure inside me. I forced myself to answer, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my insides. “No, I’m fine staying here—I have work and can’t be late.” But he was relentless, stepping back only to mutter an ominous warning: “It’s a good night for me to die, and we’ll be together forever after this.” A cold dread crept up my spine as I realized the gravity of his implication.

I tried to rise and leave. He shoved me back down, his grip tight, unyielding. My heart pounded as his friend appeared, and the first man asked, “You brought your piece, right?” The reply was a dagger to my hope: “Yeah, I have it.”

Now both men flanked me, their intentions clear. “We’ll be together forever after tonight,” they echoed, their words a menacing chant. Desperately, I pleaded with them, explaining I needed to return to my fiancé, but my appeals were met with accusations and possessive declarations. The first man began dancing in the street, a surreal and terrifying performance, before circling back to me.

Seizing a sliver of opportunity, I stood, masking calm, and tried to slip away. I talked about anything I could think of, pretending normalcy while edging toward safety. The men were distracted for a moment, dancing and laughing, and I made my move—walking purposefully down the block, nerves set on fire. At the alleyway, adrenaline surged, and I bolted into the darkness, zigzagging through the night, desperate to evade them.

Suddenly, the screech of tires split the silence—a black van tearing down the street, hunting me. I dove into the shadows, heart pounding, and dialed the police in a covered corner, desperate for help and hoping someone would know I was in danger. The van circled, headlights slicing the night, as I darted from one hiding place to another, every sound amplified by fear.

Afterwards, I called my workplace to report what happened. They responded by giving me the week off and enrolling me in free therapy sessions. Refusing to let the incident control my life, I retraced my steps to ensure I wouldn’t hold on to any bad memories.

Though the night tested my courage, I refused to be defined by fear. Each day, I grew stronger—embracing the support around me and reclaiming my confidence with every step forward. My ordeal didn’t break me; it revealed resilience. Now, I walk through life not just as a survivor, but as someone empowered to face whatever comes next. I am grateful for my safety, but most of all, I am proud of the strength I found within myself.