The razzmatazz was overwhelming for her – the music boomed in the background and the disco ball flashed its many colours onto the pleasantly amazed audience. Prom night – all the girls in dresses and jewels in a myriad of colours, their dresses sinuous at their knees and their stilettos clattering up the marble stairs and faces beautifully made up. The boys wore their ever-charming smile leading their dates on to the dance floor as the ladies clutched on to their arms.

Her pale yellow dress lay static at her ankles as her flat black sandals tried to hide inside. She shrunk into the corner, almost trying to hide in the shadows, trying to be barely discernible. She wore a simple silver chain with a circular locket and she kept tugging at it, almost as if it was a collar on her, a reminder of her boundaries. No one spoke to her, no one danced with her and she didn’t have a date. Anxiety crippled her face, almost as if her face was trying to say something. She just ambled amidst the babbling throng, unnoticed and unheard. She tried to blend in but stuck out so she shrivelled into her solitude. As she sat on the plush purple velvet divan in the corner, she shut her eyes and plunged into her thoughts. She started to regain her composure as she indulged in her feelings.

Prom was good. The lights were nice. The food was nice. The people were in another league. Prom was just another night. Just a night. Four hours and it would be over. Prom was fashion for a night and after that, she’d have her own personality. She thought of prom, smiling to herself, thinking that these four hours she’d be unbound. These four hours were her independence. After these four hours, she’d have to go back home. She’d have to be herself. She’d have to return to her life.

She’d have to be beaten up by her father. She’d have to be abused.