< 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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I was eleven years old.

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I was visiting my best friend, who had his cousin D. staying over. D. was three years older than me. He was always strange, but I was kind to him.

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One day, he picked up a blanket, threw it over me, crawled under it with me, and started pulling down my shorts. I started fighting back and calling my friend for help. He was sitting right there and just watched as we struggled under the blanket. But he chose not to help me.

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Meanwhile, D. had already pulled off my shorts and was trying to touch me with his hands. But I managed to break free. I hit him and ran. My house was a minute away from my friend's.

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I never told my parents about it. I didn't speak to that friend for nearly a year, and he never even apologised when we resumed contact. A week ago, I found out that D. got married. Somewhere inside me, a hope flickers that he has changed and will treat his wife better, though I understand that people like that don't change. I was lucky that I managed to escape. Very lucky.

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