The Last Stop

The clock struck 9:45 PM when Asha stepped out of her part-time job at the city library. The streets of Delhi were still buzzing, but nightfall always carried a certain chill that made her hurry to the nearest bus stop. Her parents had always warned her not to travel late, but with college fees, rent, and expenses mounting, she had little choice. She clutched her sling bag tighter and stepped onto the last bus heading toward East Delhi.

The bus was nearly empty—a couple of passengers scattered across the seats and a conductor half-asleep in his chair. Asha chose a seat near the middle, not too close to the driver, not too far behind. She liked to be alert. Years of experience had taught her to always stay aware of her surroundings.

A few stops later, three men boarded the bus. They laughed loudly, smelled of alcohol, and stumbled down the aisle. Asha tensed. She moved slightly, shifting closer to the window, and sent a quick message to her best friend:

“On Bus 48C, 3 drunk men got on. Will text when I get off.”

The men looked at her. One nudged the other and said something in hushed tones that made them all laugh. While pretending to be absorbed in her phone, Asha ignored them. But as the bus emptied stop by stop, her fear began to solidify into something real.

By the time the bus reached the outskirts, it was only Asha, the conductor, the three men, and the driver—who didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything happening behind him. Suddenly, one of the men got up and sat next to her.

“Hi, sister. Don’t be scared, we just want to talk,” he slurred, smiling in a way that made her skin crawl.

Asha stood up. “Please move. I want to get off at the next stop.”

But there was no next stop. The bus passed it.

“Driver! Stop the bus!” she shouted, but the driver ignored her.

Panic set in as the other two men closed in. The conductor stood up, seemingly more interested in watching than helping. Her chest swelled. She had seconds to decide.

In a flash, she remembered something: the self-defense training workshop her college had held six months ago. "In danger, use your voice. Use everything. Do not freeze."

She didn’t.

Asha let out a blood-curdling scream. She kicked the man beside her squarely in the shin and reached for the emergency button near the window. She pressed it again and again until the alarm rang out, piercing the silence. She grabbed her phone and hit the SOS button, which sent her live location to her emergency contacts and dialed the police.

The attackers were stunned at first—but not for long. One of them lunged at her. She swung her bag into his face, the weight of her books inside giving it force. He stumbled back, cursing.

The driver finally looked up, startled by the noise, and realized things were out of control. As Asha shouted again, telling him that she had called the police and the entire bus was under surveillance from CCTV, he panicked and stopped the vehicle.

Outside, a car had been following. It was her friend Ritu and her brother, alerted by Asha's message and location ping. They saw the bus stop and rushed over. Within minutes, flashing lights of a police vehicle bathed the scene in red and blue. The men tried to run, but were tackled by the police.

Asha was taken to the hospital for examination. Though bruised and shaken, she stood with her head held high when giving her statement to the police.

The news spread like wildfire the next day.

“College Girl Fights Back Attempted Assault on Bus”

“Emergency Alert Saves Brave Young Woman”

“Asha, 19, Foils Attack Using Quick Thinking and Courage”

Women across the city shared her story, calling her a hero. Schools and colleges discussed the need for better safety protocols. Government officials promised stricter monitoring of public transport. But most of all, Asha’s courage inspired thousands.

She returned to her classes the following week, quietly slipping into the back row. People stared. Some came to shake her hand. One professor called her to the front and said, “You are not just a student anymore, Asha. You are a symbol of courage.”

Later, during an interview, a journalist asked her what gave her the strength to fight.

Asha looked into the camera and said, “I was scared. But I remembered something my mother once told me: Courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means you don’t let fear stop you. I wanted to go home. I wanted to live.”