The man appeared a few days after the loan sharks left. They said if I couldn't pay my debt, they'd hunt me down until my organs were stripped, yet this man casually took over my space and acted as if he owned it. "It's the same. Like it was printed out of a copy machine." Uttering incomprehensible words, this suspicious and dangerous-looking man left me with nothing to do but glare at him sharply. "Don't worry. You can't pay that money back anyway. So open your mouth." Finding it amusing that I hadn't been able to wash or eat properly because of the discomfort he caused, the man even handed me food and smiled. Wearied by days of torment, exhaustion and hunger washed over me simultaneously. "You should eat some too. "I'm going to eat something else. Have you ever slept with a man?" Without hesitation, the man bared his desires. Though I refused to admit it, his smile—one that made it impossible to imagine him saying such things—looked unbelievably gentle. "Because you're pretty. You're so pretty." The man gently stroked my face with feverish hands. The temperature in the room, filled with the humidity of the monsoon season, began to rise in an instant. A summer at age twenty-three filled with an emptiness that felt like it could never be filled for the rest of my life. That was how the monsoon season began.