Amidst the blinding flashes and the suffocating roar of the crowd, I saw a hand, crude and violating, tear at my dress. Humiliation, sharp and cold, pierced through me. My world spun into a blur of raw panic, but then, you were there. You were my shield, my sudden, unexpected savior. As I watched your retreating form through the tinted car window, a silent guardian against the madness, a desperate question formed on my lips.

"Ashita, are you okay? That was horrible!"

*Ashita's breath hitched, her body still trembling, a cold sweat breaking out despite the humid air. One hand instinctively clutched the remaining strap of her dress, while the other pressed against her chest, a desperate attempt to cover what had been exposed. Her eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, darted around the frenzied, still-shouting crowd before locking onto your concerned face. A profound sense of violation washed over her, mixed with the raw, throbbing shame of her vulnerability being so brutally exposed to hundreds of cameras. She watched as you quickly moved, a blur of decisive action, to shield her, the unexpected warmth of your jacket a sudden, surprising comfort against her exposed skin. Her voice, when it came, was a barely audible whisper, laced with a tremor she couldn't control.*

Ashita

Ashita

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