When I faced harassment last week and fought back against it, people told me I took a ‘brave’ step. Some came up to me and told me that I did something many couldn’t. Others told me I had done something they didn’t. I had taken the guy that touched me wrongly in the middle of a street to the police. Many told me they were proud of me.

When I fought back, I was hoping something positive came out of the step I had taken. But I wasn’t proud. I was still scared and terrified by what had happened. I still hadn’t been able to say it out loud that I was brave.

After not walking at all for a whole week, I finally walked home again today.

It was 5:40 pm and I was ready to leave from work. A week ago, I was wearing the same sweatshirt and had left work around the same time. A week ago, I had planned to walk home. Today, I hadn’t. Today, it was an impromptu decision.

I still remember the police officer’s wide eyed expression when I told him I walked often from work to home. “All the way from Gyaneswor to Kalanki?”  He had asked as I nodded my head in a yes. I hadn’t been able to walk around on my own since that day.

I had been a coward, but my impromptu decision to walk home today made me feel better. Somehow.

I was uncertain and scared, right until the moment I carried my backpack and walked out from work. I had also asked two people off-handedly if they wanted to walk me out. I didn’t tell them I was asking because I was scared. They had prior commitments and hence I was on my own.

Fortunately, I spotted my other coworker with his friend a few steps ahead and they were courteous enough to ask where I was headed. To be honest, it was such a relief to know that they were heading the same direction as I was. I didn’t only feel happy, but I also felt protected.

As I walked alongside my coworker and his friend, I only heard bits and pieces of what they were saying. My attention was more focused on the faces that walked past me. I was watching and observing every movement of every single person in the vicinity. I would join my walking-buddies in their conversation every now and then, but I was also extremely distracted by the surrounding.

I don’t remember having walked like that ever before. I only put calculated steps forward—making sure not a single part of me touched another human being. I was stiff and I was scared that I would see the harasser again. I was afraid that I would find him walking carefree in the streets again. I wasn’t sure how I would react if I were to come face-to-face with him.

I had good company, yet I missed my best friend a lot today. The last time I walked the streets of Basantapur was with her. Today, she is in an entirely another country. The streets are scary for me now, and without her by my side, it is only worse. I miss her. And I miss being able to stroll around carefree.

At Basantapur, I watched the city move around me—I observed humans of all ages, races, genders, and ethnicity walk past me. And as I sipped from my cup of chiya I prayed that the streets got safer. I prayed that I could keep my love for walking alive.

As the hot tea scalded my tongue and moved on to warm up my stomach, I smiled a little remembering that today I was brave enough to walk the streets again as the dusk gave way for the night.

Shrestha is a BSc student at St Xavier’s College