When did a simple favor turn into a full-blown disaster?

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I was sitting in the corner of a library, trying to finish a scholarship essay that was due in a few hours. My laptop was barely hanging on with 6% battery. Just as I pulled out my charger, a girl sitting at the next table leaned over and asked, “Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I borrow your charger? Mine stopped working and I really need to submit something urgent.”

I hesitated. I was on a deadline too, but she looked desperate. So I said, “Sure, just for a bit. Please bring it back soon—I really need it.”

She smiled gratefully and walked off with it. I kept writing, watching my battery slowly drain. 15 minutes passed. Then 30. I walked over to the desk where she was sitting and asked, gently, “Hey, do you think I could get my charger back now? I’m kinda running out of time here.”

She looked up with this annoyed expression and said, “I’m in the middle of something. Can you not right now?”

I explained that I only had 3% left and that I had to finish a scholarship essay before midnight. She just sighed and said, “We all have our problems.”

I noticed she had earbuds in and was half-watching a video while scrolling. I spotted an open tab with an online store and another with Pinterest boards. Nothing about her seemed rushed or urgent. Still, I didn’t want to accuse her, so I backed off.

I sat down, trying not to panic. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn’t focus. And then I saw something that made my stomach twist—she had taken off her hoodie. On her arm was a wristband from a nearby rehab center. I recognized the name because my cousin had been there. A part of me softened, thinking maybe she was going through something.

But then I saw her wave over another guy. He handed her a phone, they laughed, and I heard her say, “This place is easy—free Wi-Fi, free heat, and everyone minds their business.”

Ten more minutes passed. I returned, this time politely but firmly saying, “Please, I need it now. My computer died.”

She groaned like I was bothering her on purpose. “Why are you being so aggressive?”

Aggressive?

I stood there stunned. Then she raised her voice: “You’re making me uncomfortable. Step back.”

Heads turned. My chest tightened. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but now people were looking at me like I might be.

Then came the twist that made my stomach drop—she opened her mouth and said, “I think he’s trying to steal from me.”

That’s when I panicked.

Before I could speak, she clutched the charger to her chest like it was hers. I couldn’t even get words out. The security guard was already halfway across the room.

She said, “He followed me here earlier and now he’s trying to grab my stuff.”

My hands were shaking. I’d never felt more powerless. No one asked for my side. The security guard started escorting me away from her desk. I felt people watching, whispering. One girl pulled out her phone and started recording. I wanted to disappear.

But just before they asked me to leave, I said, “Please. Just check the plug. My initials are carved into it—‘AM.’ Look.”

The guard paused. He looked. And there they were.

Her face changed. Not fear. Not shame. Just annoyance.

The librarian was called. I pulled out the check-out receipt I had from earlier that day—thankfully, it had the charger barcode listed. The librarian matched it to their system.

Everything unraveled from there.

She wasn’t a student.