“…I wake up in a small room with dirty brick walls and a broken plank of wood on four legs for a bed. It’s dark except for the scraps of daylight that creep through the cracks in the wooden window and door. I stand up and the world reels. My hand goes to the back of my head and I feel a lump there, but it doesn’t seem to be bleeding.

Tentatively, I steady myself and take a step towards the door. I push it as hard as I can. It rattles but it doesn’t give way and I can see a chain on the other side. I’m locked in.

Through the crack, I can only see a small sliver of a wall. I could be anywhere. I feel the panic rise but don’t give in to it. I slide down to the floor and try to slow my breathing.

How long have I been here? If it’s still daylight, maybe a few hours. I close my eyes and try to pay attention to what I can hear. Soon, the Azaan starts, and I realize it is evening, around 5pm, and the prayer is the same one I hear every day from my own home. I’m not that far away after all.

I look around the room again now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. There’s a naked lightbulb in a corner, so there must be a switch somewhere. I grope around and finally find it behind the bed. The lightbulb goes on. And suddenly I know where I am, or at least the sort of place—I am in a brothel. Even if someone could hear me scream, they wouldn’t care.

It’s only then that I begin to feel the terror.

I am like water, I tell myself over and over again. I am like water…”