< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.

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About a month ago, I was out walking with my friend and, as usual, I was walking home on foot. Near the local history museum, the man behind this story was waiting for me. A drunk young man immediately started harassing me. I quickened my pace, but he stopped me and started getting handsy, started tearing at my clothes, started choking me. Nobody around, of course. I hit him hard in the face and managed to break free. In the process, he said he'd find me, that he was from my university. Without overthinking it, I went to the dean's office. There, they basically told me where to go — no evidence, no reason to believe me, and besides, what business did I have wandering around at night? Going to the police... but I don't know the man's name, I'm not even sure I'd recognise his face, though he had distinguishing features. Again — no evidence. I was lucky he didn't have a knife on him.

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Anonymous author; story told in 2019 as part of the "16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence" campaign