Past day, I met a guy.
Not that I was willing to but because in our country we have an age. Once we attain that age everybody’s primary goal is to ship us to some other place. As I no longer loved someone and it din’t fit me to say no to my parents, I agreed to their choice of meeting him.
After our introduction and a few other formal questions he asked me, “Are you virgin?“
I was taken aback by this question as if what I just heard was something very dreadful. Well, to be honest, it was.
My thoughts were no longer slow as all those memories raced past me, making me realize that I was not a virgin.
The episodes of my vicious past started playing back in my mind.
In one of them, I was 8, being molested and raped by my uncle.
In other, I was 17, where my ex boyfriend entrapped me with his cunning lines and false promises. And my conscious was slammed down wounded, by my lust.
But since then I was nothing less but stronger.
My heart was pounding in my chest due to abyss of the pain.
My mind growled to ask him that how many girl’s lives had he ruined by just sleeping with them and not loving? How many times his eyes move in order to scan every inch of a girl’s skin?
That how he was not a man but just some obscure soul having facial hair. Above all, his sense didn’t know a particular lane called ‘respect’.
But instead of asking him all this. I flushed my thoughts and wiped away my tears.
I left. But somehow it didn’t feel right with me.
Hence, I came back and yelled at his face, “I don’t owe you an answer but I know this for sure that your character surely is not virgin. Thank you for asking me this and making me stronger.”