She got up from the bed, walked toward the door, and looked back at the man asleep, his unkempt hair spilling across the pillow. He was probably in his mid-twenties, a man with quiet strength, but one night wasn’t enough to determine whether he was truly kind. He had kissed her forehead before falling asleep, and she couldn’t shake the warmth of his affection. She stayed awake for hours, lost in thoughts of what might have been.

Now, leaning against the door, she stared at him. What if he were her husband? She imagined their life: him trimming his hair, her combing it with almond oil, taking breakfast together in bed, and sharing the quiet routine of his daily departure for work at 9:00 am. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

But as she snapped back to reality, she sighed. She was a prostitute. That was the truth. And while she hated the label, it was the life she led. She’d slept with countless men—police officers, hoodlums, those who smelled, and those who promised to marry her. They’d all disappeared from her life, their faces fading away. The ones who claimed they’d take her away from this world never followed through.

At times, she felt the weight of it all. She’d tell herself that fate had pushed her here, that she didn’t have much choice. Sure, she could have found a job, but the temptation of easy money had lured her in. She wasn’t proud of it, but it was what she had.

She had never imagined a life like this when she was younger. Growing up in the village of Myagdi, she dreamed of something more. Her parents, too, had hoped for a better life for her, but they had no idea what she was doing to survive in Pokhara, one of the most expensive cities in Nepal.

When she first arrived in Pokhara, she had Rs8,000 in her purse, thinking it would last her a month or two. But the city’s expenses ate through it quickly. Finding a place to live was difficult, but she managed a small room in Bhairav Tole. With a single bed and a table, she tried to settle in. Soon, the reality of Pokhara hit her hard. The money she had was running out fast. She knew she had to find a job. But every job she applied for required qualifications she didn’t have. Her parents had hoped she would attend college, but her grades had barely scraped through tenth grade.

She had lied to her parents, telling them there were more opportunities in Pokhara and that she could study and work. They didn’t want her to leave, but her father reluctantly agreed. “You have to study well and work, too,” he said, his voice laced with concern.

At first, she knocked on doors, hoping for a job. But every door remained closed. She had no qualifications, no skills, nothing to offer except her desperation. Her pride wouldn’t let her take menial work like cleaning or serving tea. She couldn’t stand the idea of mopping floors for a living. The rejection stung each time.

Her parents called her every so often, asking about her studies and whether she had found a job. She lied each time. “Everything’s fine,” she would say, even though her heart was breaking. After hanging up, she would cry herself to sleep, clutching the bedsheet as if it could comfort her.

She had no friends in the city, just her landlord, a woman in her thirties who always smiled when she saw her. Her money was nearly gone. Returning home was out of the question—she had already lied too many times. She could ask for help but had no one to turn to. So, she decided to keep going, searching for any way to make ends meet.

She had heard about Lakeside, where the wealthy and foreigners gathered. She had never been there, but she thought it might hold the promise of a job. So, one evening, she made her way to Lakeside. The street was bustling with life, with people laughing, eating, and drinking. The glow of lights reflected off the clean pavement. Tall foreign men with cameras snapped photos, capturing moments that seemed so far from her own life.

She was dressed in her old jeans, feeling out of place in the polished, upscale surroundings. But she didn’t care. She had a glimmer of hope that she might find something here, a job that would give her the money she desperately needed.

At first, she wasn’t sure where to begin. The restaurants were tucked into alleys, small and cosy. But one restaurant stood out; its sign was written in English. She stepped inside, unsure of what to expect. It was a two-story establishment overlooking the serene Fewa Lake. The ambience was rich, filled with the soft hum of conversations and clinking glasses.

As she made her way to the reception, a man—perhaps a customer—caught sight of her and stood up, approaching her. She froze. The man had a slight stagger in his step, his breath smelling faintly of alcohol.

“Are you alone?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to keep her composure.

The receptionist behind the counter watched them with a curious smile. The man pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. She hesitated, confused by his sudden invitation. What was this? Was he offering her a drink? A job?

“I’m here in search of a job,” she said quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to her purpose.

“A job?” he raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “You don’t think a restaurant like this would hire someone like you?”

Her heart skipped. The insinuation was clear, but she didn’t react. Instead, she kept her head down and tried to maintain control of the situation.

“Why don’t you just come with me instead?” he said softly, leaning closer to her. “No one will know. It’ll be just us.”

Her pulse quickened. He was making his intentions clear. The words hit her like a slap. She knew what he was offering, but the thought of rejecting him, of causing a scene in a place like this, felt impossible. What would happen if she refused? Would he get angry?

She kept quiet, her face flushed with fear and confusion. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but the words didn’t come. She felt trapped.

“I’ll pay you,” he added, his voice soft now. “Enough to make it worth your while.” Her thoughts raced. Could she turn him down? Could she get away without causing a scene? But the money… she was running out of options. She could feel the weight of her decisions bearing down on her.

“Just for tonight,” she thought, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. She couldn’t afford to say no. She needed the money. And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to change her life later.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “Okay. Just tonight.”

The man’s face lit up with a triumphant grin as he gestured for her to follow him. The receptionist didn’t even glance their way. Her mind was already far ahead, calculating the cost of her decision.

That night, she gave herself to him. What happened next wasn’t important; the money she earned that night would help her stay a little longer.

Days turned into weeks, then months. She continued to sleep with men for money, just as she had done before. But now, she had a plan. She would save enough to start something on her own. Maybe a small business. She just needed more money. Once she had it, she could stop. She could leave this life behind. But the money was never enough. And each night, the cycle repeated itself.