She was around 8 or 9 years old.
She went to visit my grandmother's house.She had fun, though she liked my grandfather's house more. Her mother wanted to go since we lived in Dhaka. Her father wouldn't leave me alone, so her mother always took me with her.
One day, we went to a neighbor's house—her mother, her sister, her aunt, and she. There was a young man there named Sakib. The way he looked at she made her feel uneasy.
His mother said, "Stay here, dear," just like adults often say to children. She obeyed.
Shewas small, soft, and carefree. Everyone adored her.
Then his mother went outside. I was alone in the room with Sakib. He was lying down, staring at me in a way that felt wrong. Then he said, "Jaima, come here."
She slowly moved, unsure of what to do. Music was playing, and he turned up the volume.
He held both of her hands and tried to kiss her.
She didn't know what to say, but I felt uncomfortable.
She couldn't quite understand what had just happened, but an uneasy fear crept deep inside her. Without daring to look back, she hurried away.