I finally reached the bus stop where I would enter a bus to my estate gate. I got in and silently hoped no one would speak to me. It was a simple request.

Again, I smelled him before I heard him. This time the scent was better, I will admit, but the face did not match. This man could easily be my grandfather. The black hairs on his head and beard had long disappeared. As he sat down, he said, “I like you,” like it was a casual observation. I plugged in my earphones, choosing peace.

Then I felt a hand on my back. I turned with a look that should have ended the conversation. Instead, he repeated himself with confidence, “I said I like you and I want to be your sugar daddy.” I politely declined. He did not take the hint. I got down at the next bus stop.

You know what, the distance is not that bad, I told myself as I walked all the way to my estate gate. To me it felt very long, but realistically it was probably just five minutes. Still, it felt like effort.

As I entered the estate, two guys started catcalling. I kept walking like I did not hear them. I might as well have been deaf because I did not react at all. I heard them complaining about women, about being ignored, about how things never work for them.

Maybe if catcalling was not the approach, the results would be different. But what do I know. I was just trying to get home.