After receiving my offer letter for an IT internship, I stepped into what I thought would be the most exciting phase of my career. Yet, the ten-minute walk to my office bus stop soon turned into one of the most agonising experiences of my life.

It all began when I noticed a disabled beggar who used to sit on a small board, dragging himself along the ground. His watchful eyes never missed a thing. One day, I saw him hand a suspicious packet to a car that stopped nearby. From then on, I began noticing the same exchanges regularly. It seemed to be drug dealing, and what followed soon after left me shaken to my core.

Although these unsettling encounters became part of my daily commute, I forced myself to focus on my internship. But the real anxiety began when the beggar shifted closer to my route. His piercing gaze, his mumbling, his suspicious movements made me shiver, yet I continued walking past him in silence.

One day, he started dragging himself toward me. My body trembled with panic. I tried to move quickly, but I felt trapped inside myself, unable to scream or run. In that moment, despite being physically capable, I felt as powerless as if I were the one bound to the ground.

From then on, the street became a cage. A man on a motorbike began following me each evening, hurling vulgar and threatening words. The beggar appeared at the same time, as if in coordination. It was no longer random. They harassed me every time I walked alone.

With constant fear, I tried changing my routine, but it never worked. No matter what time I took the road, they were there. I became hypervigilant, googling ways to protect myself, carrying pepper spray and even a knife in my bag. At that point, I wasn’t living. I was surviving.

Each day grew heavier. Every glance felt like a threat. Every sound behind me made my heart race. I suffered in silence until I finally opened up to my team lead and manager. They empathised and arranged transport for me, but the ride was not always available, and I still had to face parts of that road alone.

After a month of torment, I broke down and shared everything with my family. My father became my shield. He did not question, dismiss, or criticise me. Instead, he stood by me with strength and support until the end of my internship.

I completed the internship but declined the job offer that followed. Not because I was incapable, but because the streets still hold the trauma that robbed me of peace.

It has been two years since, yet I still carry the weight. The sound of footsteps behind me still makes my body tense. Writing this is not a confession of defeat, but a message of strength to every woman who feels unsafe or silenced. You are not alone. Harassment is not a “daily routine chaos.” It is violence. It is a crime that steals mental safety, dignity, and freedom.

The problem is not in us. It is rooted in society, and silence only feeds it. Healing begins when we speak, when we reclaim our stories, and when we are heard.

To every girl who has felt followed, trapped, or unsafe, I see you. I have been there too. Do not let fear or anxiety dictate your story. Raise your voice. Share your truth. Let the world see what we see.