My POV
It was a cold, rainy afternoon in 2017, and I was exhausted after a long day of lectures. I remember sitting alone at the bus stop, waiting for my bus to come and take me home. It must’ve been around 1:00, maybe a bit earlier, and the streets were practically empty. Just a few cars whizzed by now and then, but mostly, it was just the steady patter of rain against the shelter. I’d catch two buses to get to uni and two back home, so this was routine. Except today, something about that moment felt unsettling—like the quiet held a hidden tension.
As I waited, watching the empty road, I noticed a car pulling up in the parking lot across the street. A man stepped out, looking like he could be in his late twenties or maybe early thirties—about the same age as my cousin. I didn’t think much of it initially. He was on his phone, talking to someone, and seemed absorbed in his conversation. But then, as he saw me across the street, he hung up, crossed the road, and walked directly toward my bus stop.
The way he approached felt deliberate. I was the only one around, sitting under the shelter to avoid the rain, and every instinct I had told me something was wrong. My heart started racing, but I tried to remain calm, reminding myself to breathe and hoping my bus would arrive before he reached me. I focused on my phone, pretending to scroll, as if I didn’t notice him coming closer.
It’s strange how moments like these can etch themselves into your mind as clearly as if they happened yesterday. Every detail remains sharp—the rain, the empty street, the cold, and the weight of his stare as he approached.
As he came closer, I felt my heart pounding in my chest, every nerve on edge. He was tall, South Indian, well-dressed, and, honestly, not bad-looking. But his actions—the way he seemed to loom over me—made my stomach twist in a way that told me to stay alert. He stopped right in front of me and asked, “Did you just come back from uni?”
I could barely process his words as panic crept in. How did he know I came from university? Was he watching me? Had he followed my bus? My mind raced with questions, and I felt like I could barely hold myself together. Maybe he had just guessed—but it didn’t feel like an innocent question. For a second, I pictured all those scenes from movies, where someone in my position always escapes in time. But this wasn’t a movie. It was reality, and my only weapon was the umbrella clenched tightly in my hand.
Summoning all the strength I could muster, I nodded and forced myself to look him in the eyes, hoping he’d sense that I wasn’t as scared as I felt. Maybe that would throw him off. He continued, asking if I went to AUT. Another wave of fear washed over me. How did he know that? As I nodded again, I could feel his gaze moving over me, in that creepy way that made my skin crawl. He looked at me like I was nothing more than an object—like I was something he could take.
“Aren’t you hot?” he asked, his voice dripping with that slimy, insinuating tone. I knew that tone—it was the kind that left you feeling dirty just by hearing it. The answer to that question was obvious; I was bundled up in layers because Auckland winters were freezing. But this wasn’t about weather or warmth. He was trying to get under my skin, to strip away my comfort and my safety.
I wanted to yell at him, tell him to back off, or hurl a few choice Hindi words his way to show him I wasn’t someone to mess with. But fear clamped down on my voice, and all I could do was shake my head, muttering prayers in my mind, pleading, Ya Allah, protect me.
As he watched me, I kept my eyes glued to my phone’s blank screen, hoping my tapping would make him think I was about to call someone. I tapped furiously, clutching my umbrella, prepared to defend myself however I could. I knew his intentions; his body language and the way he lingered said it all. He didn’t see a person in front of him—he saw an opportunity, and it made my blood run cold.
Then, without warning, he turned and walked back to his car. I didn’t look up, too afraid that meeting his eyes would somehow pull him back. He drove off, and I sat there, my body rigid with fear and my mind whirling. I felt so vulnerable and shaken, like I had barely escaped something unimaginable.
I believe Allah shielded me that day, protected me from the harm I feared was inevitable. To some, it might seem like a small encounter, but for me, it was a reminder of how vulnerable I was, of how quickly safety could slip away. It was a moment I’ll never forget, etched into my memory as a reminder to trust my instincts and to pray for protection. And for every woman out there, I hope you never have to experience anything like this. God works in ways we don’t understand, and I thank Him every day for watching over me in that moment.
Picture Source: My own
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