Based on a true story.
Fifteen-year-old Sita* stood at the edge of the funeral crowd, gazing through plumes of incense to the two still forms on bamboo stretchers, wrapped in white and draped in strands of marigolds. Still in shock, her eyes were dry, unable to accept what had happened—in a matter of minutes, a car accident had rendered her an orphan.
After the funeral, she wouldn’t return to her family home as she had every day of her life until now. Instead, she would go to her aunt’s house up the road and share a bedroom with her two-year-old niece. Her uncle, Bikash*, had been in the accident with her parents, but unlike them, he had survived with a mere broken arm, which was now bound up in a sling.
That evening, sitting on a spare mattress in a room decorated for a toddler, she posted an image from the funeral to her Facebook page with the caption, “May your souls find peace, Mom and Dad. I miss you already.”
Message from a stranger
At first when Sita awoke, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then the awful reality came flooding back and made her head pound. She reached for her phone and laid back down.
The little red number by her Facebook app indicated quite a few notifications. She clicked on it and scrolled through condolences from family and friends. A few had messaged her privately too, including one she didn’t recognize from someone named Deepak*.
“You don’t know me, but we have mutual friends, I think,” read the message from the stranger. “Anyway, I came across your post and just wanted to say I’m so sorry for your loss. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
The profile picture showed an attractive young man, and she didn’t hesitate to accept his friend request.
Distraction from grief
Throughout the next few weeks, Sita and Deepak messaged back and forth constantly. Deepak was a little older than Sita, but it made him even more attractive to her. She found herself checking her phone incessantly, getting butterflies whenever she saw a message waiting from him or the little dots indicating he was typing.
Deepak always seemed to know what to say. He asked about her parents, told her she was brave, made her feel seen.
“I don’t feel so alone anymore talking to you,” she confessed to him one day.
“I just want to take care of you,” he replied. “What if…”
“???” Sita messaged back.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Deepak wrote.
“No, I won’t!!! What is it?” Sita demanded.
“What if we ran away and got married, and I could take care of you always?”
Sita’s heart soared.
Running away
She told her aunt that she was going to stay with a friend in another city to help out with a house cleaning job.
“You don’t need to work, you know,” her aunt had said. “You have a home here. You’re our family.” But Sita couldn’t help but feel like a guest in that unfamiliar house.
“It’s only a temporary job. I’ll be back soon!” she had lied.
She met Deepak at the bus station and together they rode into the city and checked into a cheap hotel. It was the first time she had ever met him in person, but she still thought they would probably go straight to the courthouse to sign marriage papers.
Instead, Deepak checked his phone that next morning and put his head into his hand with a loud sigh.
“What is it?” Sita asked worriedly.
“My brother—he got hit by a car. I need to send him some money for hospital bills, but I don’t have much. You of all people know what that’s like—we have to help him.”
Deepak’s idea was to beg on the streets. He told Sita she could earn plenty begging in the tourist areas, seeing as she was young and pretty.
Sita smiled when he called her pretty. She would do anything for this man. She didn’t know that the money wasn’t for his brother, but rather to take her over the border into the next country.
The lies unravel
Begging on the streets was hard work. The sun burned them from above, and the pavement radiated heat from below. The streets were chaotic and noisy, an overstimulating blur of color and movement, exhaust fumes, and perpetual honking. Most people completely ignored them, a few actively scorned them, and a small few gave them loose change.
Deepak and Sita were tired and thirsty most of the time, and dust from the street clung to their sweat-dampened clothing. A week went by, and they were both growing impatient and irritable.
A Love Justice monitor quietly observed the pair. The girl looked out of place—too young, too obedient, dressed in village attire that was out of place in the city. When he crossed the street to inquire how they knew each other, Deepak easily answered: “We’re siblings.”
Sita’s mouth dropped open, then quickly closed. That wasn’t true.
Deepak continued: “Our brother, Bikash*, was in a car accident, so we’re asking for money to help him.”
Sita froze. Bikash? Her uncle?
He may still be healing from his broken arm, but he was hardly desperate for medical attention.
When the monitors separated them for further questioning, Sita told them everything. They called her aunt and told her where her niece was. Her aunt was horrified but couldn’t leave her two-year-old, so she promised to send another of Sita’s relatives right away to pick her up.
Sita’s relative showed up, and it was none other than her uncle, Bikash. One arm was in a sling, but the other was still thick and toned from hard labor. Deepak shrank from him.
“I hear you’ve been telling lies about me, boy,” Bikash said. “That ends here.”
Deepak nodded, cheeks reddening.
Finally home
Sita arrived safely back at her aunt’s house that evening. Her small cousin ran to greet her with a sticky smile and incoherent but gleeful words, and her aunt wrapped her in a big hug. Sita was surprised at the warmth she felt to be back. She felt a hot teardrop roll down her cheek—somewhere along the way, this place had begun to feel like home.
Every minute in May
Every minute, someone like Sita is tricked into being trafficked—but in the same minute, our teams stand ready to find them before it’s too late.
It only costs us $132 to intercept one person from trafficking. This May, it’s our goal to fund as many minutes of freedom as we can, one minute at a time.
How many minutes of freedom can you help cover? Give or rally your community to join the movement today!
*All data and statistics current at the date and time of publishing. Names and specific locations excluded for privacy and security purposes. Images are representative. AI used for some images.
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