The year is 2011. I was 22 years old at a debating contest in Paris. This was my year abroad in Berlin. I took a one-year break from my life in Pakistan (which would later become four years) and fled to Europe instead of agreeing to marry some suitable boy my mother had found for me. There I was, in Paris, all by myself. I debated all weekend at Science Po and wandered at night. I fell in love with Paris; every corner of it seemed magical.
Then something strange happened. I looked at my plane ticket the night before my trip back to Berlin. I panicked; my flight was in a few hours. How can I get to the airport? I asked my host. She guided me through a nonexistent metro system and a hopelessly broken nighttime bus service. With no money in my pocket, I left the dingiest flat in Paris at midnight for Paris Orly. I knew how easy it was for me to get lost, and what about the nighttime crime situation in Paris, my host looked skeptical about my safety. I guess when you are 22, you feel eager to take such risks anyway. So, I left. I took the first bus, it was empty, and the second bus came, empty as well. By 2 am, I was standing outside Paris, with one man drinking vodka straight out of the bottle and waiting for the bus. I felt deep in my heart, this is danger. I knew it. I was terrified. He looked at me several times, approached me, and I was ready for something really bad to happen. I started to pray, he came even closer and put his hand in his pocket. Immediately, I looked at him. When would the bus arrive? I asked in my broken French. He stepped back. He didn’t answer. I looked at my watch. I kept praying, God, just let me make it through the night, and I’ll never forget that you let me live. The next fifteen or so minutes proved to be the longest period of my life. I could see my entire life destroyed by this accident, which seemed imminent, and then I began to think of my parents and my life back in Berlin. Finally, the bus arrived. He never got on. I arrived at the airport, only to discover that my flight was next day and not today. At 3 am, I repeated the entire journey back to Paris from Orly. I spent the next day walking along the Seine and thinking about what had happened.