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You make love with pregnant love.

And I've never had anything happen to me. Until that night.

I was running through this park not far from campus, and paused by a bench to tie up my shoelaces. I was about to leave when suddenly I was accosted by a pair of guys. "Hello sweet thing," a burly white dude with tattoos said, and he smiled nastily, showing yellowish teeth. I looked at him a moment too long, for as I turned to leave, I felt a pair of arms grab me.

"Let go of me," I said, and was about to scream when a sweaty, thick hand fell upon my mouth, silencing me. The bald guy looked at me and grinned, and I felt his still unseen acolyte's free hand grab my buttocks. These animals weren't going to rob me. Their plans were far more sinister than that. Heaven help me, I prayed silently, as thoughts of torment and violation assaulted my mind.

"This Muslim bitch got a nice ass on her," the other guy said, and I felt his hot breath against my face as he licked my neck. I shuddered all over, disgusted and suddenly feeling utterly unclean. I struggled in the man's grasp but to no avail. I'm a feisty chick but this guy was huge, and he had help. I looked into the bald one's eyes and saw in there the promise of hell.

"Let her go or you're dead meat," a loud, vaguely familiar masculine voice said, and I sensed tension in the still-unseen man who was holding onto me. A third party joined the fray, and I gasped when I saw who it was. Juan Carlos Etienne, in the flesh. The burly Caribbean guy from class stood there, and in his hand, he held what looked like the meanest butcher knife in history.

"Crazy Muslims walking around a Canadian street with a damn machete," Baldy said, and he shook his head and backed off as Juan Carlos walked up to him, raising his blade as if preparing to strike. The bald guy muttered something to his companion, and next thing I know, the steel grip relaxed, and then vanished. I turned around, and saw two fleeing figures disappear into the night.

"Are you alright?" Juan Carlos said, looking at me with concern in his chocolate eyes. I gently massaged my throat, and sighed, then caught my breath. I looked at Juan Carlos, who tucked his wicked-looking blade into his jacket pocket, and gently touched my arm. For a long moment, I looked at him in silence. For I was beyond shocked after all I'd just gone through.

"Thank you," I said, and Juan Carlos Etienne smiled and gently pulled me into his arms. Normally, observant Muslim women like myself don't get all hugged up with males we don't know. Indeed, we only shake hands with male relatives, refusing to touch strangers. The Koran forbids touching between unmarried or unrelated men and women. And yet, in that moment, I didn't care. Juan Carlos pulled me into his arms, and I let go of my fears and hugged him back. "You're safe now Miss Abbasi," he whispered into my ear.

I looked into the eyes of Juan Carlos, the arrogant guy from the Caribbean, and a frisson coursed through me. In a good way, I ought to say. As corny as it may sound to you cynical and worldly readers, I had a feeling about Juan Carlos in that moment. Never mind that we come from different worlds and butted heads the first time we met. "I know," I said, and he nodded gently.

That night, I allowed a guy to walk me home for the first time. The next day, I went to the police, but the policewoman I spoke to wasn't much help. "Sorry but in this town, this sort of thing happens all the time," she said, in a less than helpful tone. I walked out of the police station, feeling honestly disappointed. The policewoman's lack of sensitivity was alarming. The fact that she as a woman failed to understand my plight bugged me, but whatever.

I didn't tell my parents about the incident because I knew how they'd react. No one is more overprotective of their daughters than Muslim parents. Absolutely no one else on the planet Earth. I could see my overzealous mother locking me up in my room for the sake of my safety until my wedding day. Pardon my French but fuck THAT!

I went to class, and this time, I sat next

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