Chapter 1: The Train Incident
People start rushing going into the train. It is common for trains to be packed to the brim on Monday morning at Jakarta ’s Sudirman station. I did not get a seat making me have to stand in the corner, almost hugging a pole facing the wall as I am too short to reach for the standing passenger handle. The train start to move. I stand facing the wall and suddenly i felt someone pressing his body to my back. At first i thought it was normal. After all, the train is packed and people are pressed together like sardines in a can. But then I felt it again. A slow, deliberate press of a body against mine. Not the accidental brush of someone trying to steady themselves, but something more deliberate. More *intentional.*
I stiffened. My fingers tightened around the pole, knuckles whitening under my skin. The train jostled forward, the rhythm of its movement making the contact between us feel even more pronounced. The scent of his cologne—something sharp and musky—cut through the thick, humid air of the carriage. He wasn’t just standing behind me. He was *leaning* into me.
My breath hitched. A big palm grab a handful of my butt. I wore a skirt but u can still know the figure of my big butt from the outer layer
of my skirt. I froze, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The train lurched again, and for a second, I thought maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe it was just the crowd, the sway of the carriage, the way bodies pressed together in the heat. But then—there it was again. A slow, deliberate squeeze, fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh through the thin fabric of my skirt.
*No. No, no, no.*
My mind raced, but my body betrayed me. A traitorous warmth pooled low in my stomach, my breath shallowing as if the air itself had thickened. I should have moved.
I should have turned around and slapped him, or at least shoved him away. I should have done something—anything—but instead, I stood there, frozen, my face burning with a mix of shame and something else, something darker, something that made my pulse quicken in a way that wasn’t entirely about fear.
The train rattled on, the noise of the crowd a dull roar in my ears. No one seemed to notice. No one ever did. In a country where modesty was a shield, where a single misstep could ruin a reputation, where a girl’s virtue was measured in the length of her skirt and the tightness of her hijab, no one would dare to look too closely.
The guy keep groping my butt, until he suddenly went inside my skirt and insert a finger. I was already wet . I bit my lip hard to prevent myself from moaning. My body betrayed me. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of shame and pleasure that made my knees weak. I tried to focus on the train’s rhythmic clatter, the chatter of students around me, anything to distract myself from the slow, deliberate circles his finger was tracing. But it was useless. My body was responding, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
I glanced around, my eyes darting nervously. No one was looking. No one ever looked. In this crowded train, packed with students in their crisp uniforms and hijabs, I was just another face in the sea of bodies. No one would suspect. No one would know.