I didn’t plan to talk to her.
Libraries are silent places, and strangers usually stay strangers. But there was something about the way she stared—not reading, not scrolling, not sleeping—just staring. As if her body was present, but her mind had stepped out long ago.

When I tapped her gently, she flinched. Then she looked at me, almost apologetically.

“Sorry… I was lost,” she said. I smiled and said, “It’s okay. Happens.”

She nodded. A pause. And then, unexpectedly—

“Can I tell you something? You don’t have to respond.”

(That was how Promila entered my life)

Promila: “I’m from a village near Hubballi, I came to Bangalore when I was just 20. Immediately after my second-year graduation exams.”

She spoke softly, as if afraid her story might echo too loudly.

I asked her why so early.

She smiled—a tired smile and said “I thought coming early would make life easier.”

She told that she has one elder sister too. Back home, she said, there was love—but also limitations. Expectations, Silenced around emotions.“No one prepares you for a city like this,” she said…….“They prepare you to earn. Not to survive.”

Me: “Where do you stay?”

She replied, “A girls’ PG. People think PG life is freedom. But it’s survival.”

She told me about bad food, shared rooms, sleepless nights, and pretending everything was fine during video calls home.

She added , “Some days I ate less so I could save money. Some days I skipped meals because I was too tired to eat.” She worked in a call center. Night shifts. Continuous calls.

“You don’t stop working. Even when your body is screaming, the system doesn’t care.” I noticed her hands trembling slightly as she spoke

Promila: “I didn’t understand the difference” I didn’t interrupt when her voice changed.

“I met men,” she said plainly.
“They listened. They asked if I ate. They said I looked tired.”

She looked at me then. “No one had ever done that for me before.”

She paused. ….“I thought that was care.” What she received instead was attention with conditions. Affection that expected something in return.

“I didn’t know how to identify when someone is approaching you with respect, and when someone is advancing because of desire.” She wasn’t crying.

Me: “Promila… what happened?” Her voice dropped. “I had two abortions.”

(The words sat between us like a weight)

“By the time I understood what was happening, my body was already tired. My mind was already numb.” she added. She told me how exhausted she felt all the time. How her health kept declining.

“My body started showing everything I couldn’t say.”

She looked down.“Why do women’s bodies don’t hide trauma? They carry it”

Promila: “I didn’t talk about it” No friends. No family. No counselors. “I was scared of being judged. Scared of being blamed. So I stayed silent.”

Before I could say anything to pacify her , she said , I know NGOs exist, Helplines exist. “But do you know how hard it is to walk into a place and say—‘I didn’t know better’?” I nodded… and deep silence surrounded us, while I sat numb, feeling the shivers.

Me: “How did you survive?”

She thought for a moment and said “I stopped running.”

(That was her turning point).

“I stopped blaming myself. I accepted that ignorance is not a crime.” She said that she started eating better. Sleeping when she could. Saying NO — slowly.

“I chose stability over intensity.” She looked calmer saying this, as if the words themselves grounded her.

Promila: “This is not just my story” She leaned back.

“There are many girls like me. Coming from smaller towns. Big cities excite us, but they also consume us.” She acknowledged that men may face emotional exploitation too.

“But men don’t talk about it. And their bodies don’t reflect it the same way.” For women, she said, it’s visible. Physical….. Permanent….

Me: “What do you wish was different?” She didn’t hesitate.

“I wish our education system taught emotional understanding. Boundaries. Consent. Self-worth.”

And then both of sighed, and I added “Mental health is not just mindfulness reels and manifestation workshops. It should be a safe place.”

As I bid her farewell for that evening, she thanked me for listening and said “I’m not fully healed,” “But I’m stable. And that’s enough for now.”

As I walked out of the library, I realized something.

People around us are carrying stories we never see.
Sometimes, all it takes is a tap on the shoulder.
A pause.
A willingness to listen.

If someone near you feels distant, tired, lost—
Maybe they’re waiting, like Promila was,
For one human moment of kindness.

And that can change everything.