The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume and sweat as I stepped out of my room. My heart raced with excitement, for tonight was the night that we would finally dress up and have some fun. I had spent hours carefully selecting my outfit, a tight-fitting red dress that hugged every curve of my body. As I slipped it on, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in my reflection. But as I stepped into the living room, I realized something was off. The air was thick with tension and anxiety, and everyone seemed to be avoiding each other. My friends looked at me with nervous smiles, as if they were unsure about what to do. And then, finally, someone spoke up. Hey, what’s going on? I asked, trying to sound casual. Is everything okay? But tead of answering my question, one of my friends pointed to the door and motioned for me to go outside. Confused, I followed them out onto the balcony. And then I saw it: a group of men had gathered below us, staring up at our apartment with flashing cameras. What’s going on? I asked again, my voice rising in panic. Why are they here? What do we do? But no one seemed to have an answer for me. And then the door slammed shut behind me, and I was alone on the balcony, staring out at the city below.
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