< 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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We were in the same class. He was every girl's dream boy; girls from the whole school would run after him. We didn't notice each other until years 10–11, when we were seated together for our final school years. I started noticing signs of attention directed specifically at me, at a time when at least 5 older girls wanted to date him.

Compliments, support, conversations, smiles — everything was perfect, and I felt his affection and responded in kind. I dreamed of dancing the graduation waltz only with him, and it all happened just as I'd wished. Very soft and subtle touches, support, and an even deeper infatuation. At the graduation, we were named the best couple, but the evening left a mark on me for the rest of my life.

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Things at the café were wonderful up to a certain moment — we danced together, and then he confessed his love for me. I'll say right away that it wasn't a surprise to me, because after rehearsals we had grown closer, so we kissed in front of the whole class — and I'd say it wasn't surprising for them either.

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I didn't drink at all at the graduation, but he was getting noticeably drunk. He came up to me and hugged me, then took my hand, and we went to the photo area outside, where no one else was. He hugged me tightly at first, then we kissed again, and his hands started moving lower; I removed them, he didn't react, and started pulling his hands lower again.

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I was already feeling uncomfortable — he was drunk, and there was something wild and animal in his eyes. He said he wanted me and started making sharper movements and grabbing at me; he was very strong, but I don't understand where all his warmth and care toward me had gone. He told me not to be afraid and started grabbing my hands so hard that bruises formed. He was very persistent, and I got scared. I started screaming, and he covered my mouth with his hand — no one could hear me. In the café, the music was playing, and everyone was dancing.

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He grabbed me by the elbow and started dragging me toward the bathroom. I knew what he was intending, and I started hitting him by any means I could, screaming loudly, biting his hand — but he locked the bathroom door behind us — or so he thought. I kept screaming and hitting him as he tried to get under the tulle of my dress.

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I heard it: someone had come into the bathroom. This was my chance — I was just about to scream, when he squeezed my throat with his hand. But I was heard. Another classmate of mine came in, started trying to open the door — and somehow, miraculously, he thought he'd locked it, but he hadn't. He started shouting at my rescuer that he was interrupting them, but he understood everything from the tears in my eyes. He was immediately pushed out of the café — they called him a true piece of filth and an animal. I was protected. I was supported by absolutely everyone. No one judged me. I got through it. I'm grateful that he didn't lock the door. God, I'm so grateful…

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