As waiting for the bus to arrive, I saw a boy moving his flimsy stick around the pile of trash in a gutter nearby. He looked away and yelled, “Aaija Maile Vettaye!” Another boy came running to him. They both picked up some rotten bananas and flashed a huge smile at each other. I felt I had an ethical duty to provide them something better so I handed the boys a scrunched note of 50 Rupees that I had in my back pocket.
I looked across the street, there was a shoemaker. Moving my eyes further from him on the first floor of a building saw a couple clearly arguing through the window. Pretending not to see that I looked around.
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There was a boy sitting on the bus stop bench, calling someone with his iPhone 6s more like shouting on the other person on phone, “If you ever comment Chakka on my posts I swear I’m calling the police!” He realized I was just beside him so he lowered his voice and ended the call. I felt pity for him yet I ignored everything that was happening around me.
The bus arrived. I got inside and sat on the last seat. The bus stopped there for a while and I glanced across the street where the two boys were buying gum from the shoemaker with the scrunched 50 rupees. In worry, I looked at the building’s first floor. At that very moment, the man stabbed his wife.
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She dropped on the floor as she screamed and the man closed the curtains in a hurry. I took a long breathe in grief and turned my head to the other side I saw the boy on the bus stop now being circled by some harassers. Our bus engine roared and threw fumes of filthy black smoke.
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As it was just moving, out of panic the boy threw himself under the bus. The bus stopped and so did my heart. With teary eyes and a dry mouth, I leaned back on the seat.
I looked over the notification on my phone that just buzzed. It said, THE KATHMANDU POST- ‘New rape case in Bardiya, girl murdered and the rapist still anonymous.’ With tears rolling down my eyes I whispered to myself- “Either this all ends or we do.”
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Writer: Kritika Bastola
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