My hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine and a lump came to my throat. It was him

 I wasn't a typical twelve year old. I didn't enjoy girly gossips ranging from high school crushes to celebrity scandals. Nor was I interested in the current makeup trends. No joy for selfies or silly snap chat filters either.
I loved to read and to write. For hours, I would be found occupied with my books. I was fascinated by the power I had over my characters. I could turn them into heroes overnight or vanquish them with a single stroke of my pen. 

Every day, after school I would go to the playground near by and write. I preferred the chitter chatter of the  playground to the eerie silence of my room. Being the only child could get really lonesome. I yearned for the company of a sibling. On a quiet dinner table, I flung my suggestion for having an additional  member. My suggestion was met with a tight smile from my father who in hushed

tones responded that mum's health  did not allow one. Mom said, "Nuha, Babies are a gift Allah and when He wishes He will surprise us, but for now the doctors do not deem my body fit to carry a baby." 
I hurried to reassure them that I would be the best child and friend they could ever have and saw the happiness return back to their dismal faces. I promised myself that I wouldn't dwell on this thought ever again. 

Everyday at the park was different. Different stories, different characters coupled with the merry sounds of the children playing nearby. Though they were wooden benches, I preferred sitting close to the children playing. The noise from the children helped to drown unwanted thoughts and I found myself focussing better. I would carry my colourful Kashmiri mat daily and place it close to the swings. And with my blue diary opened in front of me, I would sit to write.


A man sitting on one of the benches, amidst the greenery caught my attention. He was wearing a bright orange silk shirt over a golden dhoti, a stark contrast from the serene green ambience of the playground. He seemed to be in his early forties, with receding forehead and some grey hair. He saw me looking at him and motioned to come towards him.He looked like a man who had happily escaped a wedding scene, and was enjoying some me time at the park. Intrigued with the fascination of his character I found myself drawing towards him.  As he saw me approaching, he started asking me the whereabouts of a place-A red brick villa, 2kms away from the park. As I started giving him the directions, he lifted his dhoti to reveal all that lay beneath, once carefully unexposed. I stood frozen and before i could form any sort of reaction he had grabbed my arm. With my free hand, I curled my fingers like a wild beast and scratched him over his face,being very careful not to miss his eye and fled as fast as I could. I had left my diary behind, but this time i couldn't care less.

I ran and ran till I finally caught sight of my building. Took the elevator and reached home, gave mom a hasty salaam and walked straight to my room and cried out of fear and desperation. I wondered why my parents nor my teachers had ever spoken on this before. I felt so unprepared. The skin stuck underneath my nails was a gross proof of the horrible reality I witnessed today.  I wanted to talk to mum and baba but awkwardness held me back. 
I stopped going to the park and all together left writing. I would come back home and sleep. Mum explained this away as a stage of boredom, far away she was from the feelings that I had buried within.

Three weeks later, I was off to the supermarket to fetch some groceries for mum and there I saw him again. My hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine and a lump came to my throat. Along with dread, a feeling of extreme guilt and remorse hit me for having hidden this from my loving parents . My parents had every right to know.
The man was busy checking the freshness of the veggies and hadn't noticed me. I hurriedly made the payment and brisk walked myself  home, all the way wondering how to set up a conversation with mum.
She was busy cooking when I reached. 

'Mom, I need to talk.'
'Beta, give me 2 minutes.I 'll be done.' 
'NOW mom! the cooking can wait ' 
 Sensing  the urgency, she dropped her wooden spoon on the kitchen counter and turned completely to face me. 'Whats the matter Sarah?'
'Three weeks back I met this wierdo at the park  who yanked his private part at me' I blurted out.
Mom seemed perturbed, but maintained her calm, 'so  this explains why you have been avoiding the park?' 
'Ermmm. yea.'
'Nuha, You will be confronted with leeches at some time of your life or the other. These predators are lying everywhere waiting  for a chance to release their sexual anxiety. Really pathetic! But you always have to remember that it isn't your fault.I am glad you sensed the urgency and ran away from there at once and even more glad that you came and told me. But just running away isn't the best option. You should have informed the security guard or some adult at once,who could have taken immediate action. When these leeches aren't confronted, they get bolder and more dangerous. The longer you wait , the longer are the chances of finding the miscreant.Remember this ,my dear! Don't feel ashamed to speak about anything that makes you uncomfortable. What you experienced is is a type of molestation-a criminal offence. Everyone faces different shades of molestation in their lives,at some time or the other. Being aware , helps one to face these situations better. InshaAllah, we will report this matter to the police after Baba returns from work. Raising a complaint is one way we can ensure that the leech doesn't repeat this.  Staying quiet is a sign of cowardice.'
'you and baba mean the world to be and I am so happy that I have you both to confide in . My warriors and pillars!'
I hugged mum and cried.

Now that the  burden is off my shoulders, I will resume going to the park, fully aware and confident to face the challenges that may come my way. I am glad my mum believed me and is on her way to take action. 
But for now, I am off to look for a new diary.