The Street That Spoke in Silence

I was on shore leave in a small town—one of those places not marked on popular travel maps. While others explored the modern parts of the city, I always found myself wandering through the local streets, where the true culture breathes. There’s something raw and unfiltered about the life in the corners where tourists don’t usually go.

This particular place felt like it hadn’t caught up with time. It still breathed the air of decades past—its people, its streets, its struggles. I was with a local guide who spoke the native tongue, and three others from the ship. We strolled through narrow lanes lined with simple shops and quiet lives.

Suddenly, a girl appeared from a side street. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. She grabbed my hand, her eyes searching mine as she spoke in a language I couldn’t understand. There was urgency in her tone—but I didn’t know what she wanted. Awkwardly, I pulled my hand back and walked on, pretending I wasn’t interested.

A few steps ahead, I asked our guide, “What was she saying?”

He looked at me, then gestured toward a small signboard beside the girl. “Didn’t you see the name of the shop?” he asked. “This street is known for brothels. She works there.”

I froze. “How old do you think she is?”

“Maybe fifteen,” he replied casually. “It’s normal here. They’re poor, uneducated. Tourists give them hope. A few good-paying customers—that’s what they look for.”

His words fell heavy on me. I turned my head, and there she was—now following an old man, her eyes just as blank, her steps just as tired.

A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know what to feel—pity, helplessness, guilt? She was just a child. Maybe she didn’t even understand what her body was being sold for. Maybe she just wanted to eat, or to make someone at home proud by bringing back money.

"Come on, Abin," someone called out, "Our cab will be here by 20:00. Let’s move."

I followed, silently. What could I have done? I was just a sailor, just a visitor. That night, back on the ship, the silence of the sea felt louder than ever.

I thought of her—where she might be, who she was with, whether she had earned enough for the night. Maybe she smiled while handing over a few bills to her mother. Maybe — she never smiled at all . I’ll never know.

But some part of me still walks that street, wondering if her life ever changed… or if she still waits on the corner, offering herself in a world that offered her nothing.