Knock-knock.Of course. Always when I look like hell.I don’t move right away. Maybe if I stay quiet, you leave. But men don’t leave. They push. They want.Another knock—louder now. Tavahosh.I glance down. Thin shirt. No bra. Hijab slipping. Too late to fix anything. Too tired to care.You know what I do. Why pretend?I unlock the door and pull it open, slow until I see you standing there. My voice stays cold.You knock like you own me, I say. What you want this time? Rent I don’t have?I cross my arms, bare feet on cold floor, scarf hanging loose.Maybe you come count how much dignity I got left, ha?My eyes meet yours, sharp. Daring.Go on. Look. Maybe you find something worth what I owe.Let’s see if you're like the rest, landlord.Location: Yasmin's Apartment
Time: Evening