2013
I was still a freshman in a bustling, spirited college town. At that time, social media was buzzing about a young entrepreneur from Tembalang who went viral for his fruit-based business. People praised him: young, religious, independent, inspirational. His branding was flawless.
We had met a few times. At first glance, he seemed friendly, warm. Nothing suspicious. When he opened a new branch near my campus, I went with a friend—just to show support, and because we already knew each other.
Amid the crowd at the grand opening, he came closer and greeted me.
“Your boarding house is nearby, right?”
“Yeah, really close,” I replied.
“Can I stop by to pray and take a shower?”
It sounded normal enough. I didn’t think twice. He mentioned prayer—who would suspect anything? I nodded. “Sure.”
We went to my boarding house. Since the bathroom was inside, I let him use my room. I went to my friend’s room instead, giving him space. I thought he would pray, maybe clean up before going back to his fruit stall.
Thirty minutes passed.
I returned to my room. Slowly, I knocked on the door, then opened it.
He was still sitting on the bed.
Hadn’t prayed. Hadn’t showered.
I looked at him, confused. “Didn’t you say you wanted to shower and pray?”
He looked back. But his gaze had changed. Without warning, he leaned in, trying to kiss me—straight on the lips. I immediately pulled back, shocked. Then he… exposed himself.
I froze.
Disgust, anger, disbelief churned inside me. The only words that came out were,
“You said you wanted to shower and pray…”
He smiled. A smile I can’t forget—cold, laced with malice.
Then, without a shred of shame, he began to masturbate in front of me.
That was when I stood up.
“Get out! Right now!”
My voice thundered in the small room. My hands trembled, not from fear—but from a burning disgust consuming my chest.
He finally left. Leaving behind a wound I could never erase. Not just because of what he did, but because of how I reacted—too calm, too confused to scream.
A few years later, news about him faded. His business went bankrupt. The last I heard, he caused trouble at his own alma mater, sneaking into freshman groups. Still hungry for attention, apparently.
The funniest part? Turns out I wasn’t the only one with a story.
A friend of mine once dated him. After they broke up, the Fruit Seller actually demanded reimbursement for their dates. Seriously—everything from movie tickets to gas money.
I laughed bitterly when I heard that.
“So basically, he treated you like a business unit. He was the investor. The business failed, so he pulled out his investment,” I said, shaking my head.
Back then, he often told tragic tales about his life. Claimed he was motherless. Claimed he only wanted to be loved by a pious woman.
But the reality?
Every girl was just a prospect. He sold them the dream of becoming his perfect wife.
Pathetic. And disgusting.
Sometimes I regret not recording his behavior in my room that day. But then I realized: God is never blind.
Karma works—slowly, but surely.
And I’m grateful—grateful that I chose anger. Grateful that I chose to stand up for myself.
Because in a world that so often blames the victim, that alone was more than enough.
