It was 3 years ago.
My father returned home and started beating my mother without saying a word. I tried stopping him but I was just a kid. Neighbours came forward and stopped him. I thought everything was going to be okay.
During midnight, I heard my mother's scream for just a moment. I rushed to their room and saw her on the bed, DEAD. My father was sitting on the floor and was calling her by all slang words, at that dead body of my mother.
I started screaming.
People came and handed over my father to the policeman. Police came, took my father to their custody, took my mother as well.
I became dire alone.
My neighbour Bashir Uncle took my responsibility and kept me with them. My mother was buried after 2 days. Father didn't return.
5 months later, Bashir uncle came and told me, "Dress up, make yourself beautiful." He then took me and sent me to a lady at a slum, far from my home.
One night some guys came, started undressing me, watched my body by putting off my clothes, one by one. I felt so shy, tried to run away. But they didn't let me go.
Every night they did "these" things with me, I cried a lot but nobody helped me.
After a year, one day, many police came. They took me and sent me to a Khala (lady). Khala gave me a job, at a Garments factory in Dhaka. Now I work all day here. I don't feel unhappy.
All day I work, I spin fibres, I play, gossip with my Khala.
Khala loves me a lot. I love her too.