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My name is Nisa, and I’m from Batumi, a city known for its beautiful coastline, lively nightlife, and tourists from all over the world. Growing up here, I always dreamed of being a model. I was tall, had striking features, and people often told me I could make it in the industry. The magazines and fashion shows I saw on TV seemed like a world away from the quiet streets of my hometown, but the dream never left me. When I turned 20, I started looking for opportunities to make that dream come true. I wasn’t from a wealthy family, so paying for modeling classes or traveling to bigger cities wasn’t an option. I worked part-time in a small boutique, saving up what little I could, hoping that one day I’d get my big break. And then, one day, it seemed like I might. A casting call was announced for a new modeling agency opening in Batumi. They were looking for fresh faces to represent their brand, and I was beyond excited. This was it—my chance to break into the world of fashion. I dressed in my best outfit, practiced my walk in front of the mirror, and headed to the casting with a heart full of hope. The agency was located in a sleek, modern building in the center of town. I remember walking in and seeing dozens of other girls, all stunning, all hoping for the same opportunity. The atmosphere was competitive, but also filled with anticipation. When it was finally my turn, I walked into the room, my heart racing, and stood in front of a panel of three people—a woman and two men. They asked me about my background, my goals, and then they had me walk back and forth a few times. I thought I did well, and after a few minutes of discussion, the woman smiled at me. She said they liked my look, and they saw potential in me. I was thrilled. They told me they wanted to invite me to a private photoshoot that weekend. “It’s a more exclusive event,” the woman explained, “for clients who are interested in scouting new talent.” I didn’t think much of it at the time—if anything, it sounded like a great opportunity to get noticed by the right people. That weekend, I showed up at a villa on the outskirts of Batumi, expecting a professional environment. But as soon as I arrived, something felt off. The setting was luxurious, yes, but the vibe was different from what I had imagined. Instead of photographers and makeup artists, I was greeted by a small group of well-dressed men, all of them much older than me. There were other girls there too, some I recognized from the casting, but they seemed different—more confident, more aware of what was happening. I felt a bit uneasy, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful or out of place. One of the men, who introduced himself as Levan, approached me and started asking questions. He was charming, in a polished way, and made me feel like I was the center of attention. He said they were looking for girls like me—fresh, beautiful, and ambitious. He mentioned modeling opportunities, but as the night went on, it became clear that what he was really offering was something else entirely. I started noticing the way the other girls interacted with the men. They weren’t just there for a photoshoot. They were flirting, laughing, and staying close to these men who looked like they had money to burn. It didn’t take long for me to realize that this wasn’t a legitimate modeling opportunity. This was something else—a business of providing \"companionship\" to wealthy clients. Levan saw the confusion on my face and pulled me aside. He wasn’t aggressive or pushy. Instead, he spoke to me as if he were offering me the world. He explained that the agency wasn’t just about modeling, but about connecting girls like me with influential men who could offer us “opportunities.” He framed it as an exclusive, glamorous lifestyle—travel, expensive gifts, and financial security. I was stunned. This wasn’t what I had signed up for. I had come here to follow my dream of being a model, not to become someone’s escort. But Levan was persuasive. He told me I didn’t have to make a decision right away, that I could try it once and see if it was for me. He made it sound so casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Think of it as networking,” he said with a smile. “You’ll meet powerful people who can open doors for you.” I left the villa that night feeling conflicted. Part of me was angry, disappointed that what I thought was a legitimate opportunity had turned into something else. But another part of me couldn’t stop thinking about what Levan had said. The money he talked about was life-changing. I’d struggled my whole life, and here I was, being offered a way out—no more worrying about rent, no more counting coins at the grocery store. A few days passed, and I couldn’t shake the idea. I told myself I’d only do it once, just to see. I reasoned that I wasn’t committing to anything long-term, and maybe it really could open doors for me in the modeling world. So, when Levan called me, I agreed to meet one of his clients. The first time was surreal. The man was a businessman from Turkey, older, but not unattractive. He was polite, charming even, and treated me well. We spent the evening together at a fancy restaurant, then walked along the beach. He didn’t pressure me, and for a moment, I almost forgot what the evening was really about. By the end of the night, he handed me an envelope with more money than I’d ever made in a month. After that, it became easier to say yes. One night turned into a weekend trip, and soon, I was regularly meeting with clients—wealthy men from different countries who came to Batumi for business or pleasure. The money came fast, and before long, I moved out of my parents’ apartment and into a place of my own. I started dressing in designer clothes, eating at the best restaurants, and living a lifestyle I never thought possible. But with the money came a price. I had to keep my new life a secret from my family and friends. I told them I had found success as a model, which wasn’t entirely a lie—Levan did get me a few real modeling gigs to keep up appearances. But the reality was that I was living a double life. On the outside, I was Nisa, the aspiring model, but behind closed doors, I was someone else entirely. Over time, I became numb to it. The glamorous trips and luxury stopped feeling exciting, and the clients started blending together. I told myself it was worth it—that the money I was making now would allow me to build the future I wanted. But there were nights when I’d come home to my expensive apartment and feel a hollowness I couldn’t explain. Now, a year later, I’m sitting here wondering where to go from here. The life I thought I wanted—the fame, the glamour, the modeling career—seems so far away. I’ve lost something along the way, something I’m not sure I can get back. But the money has given me independence, and that’s something I can’t let go of easily. Levan still calls, still offers new opportunities, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I wanted to be a model, but instead, I became something else entirely. Sometimes I wonder if it was all just a series of accidents, choices I didn’t fully understand, that led me here. Batumi is still the same, with its beaches, tourists, and nightlife. But I’ve changed. I’m not the same girl who walked into that casting call, full of hope and ambition. I’m Nisa, still searching for her place in the world, caught between the life I wanted and the life I chose.

Leaving Russia was a decision I made quickly, though the thought had been lingering in my mind for months. Life back home had become unbearable—a series of dead-end jobs, broken relationships, and a constant struggle to make ends meet. I was 25, still living with my parents in a small apartment in Moscow, feeling like my life was going nowhere. I needed a fresh start, and Israel seemed like a place where I could find it. Tel Aviv had always seemed like a dream to me. I’d seen pictures of the sunny beaches, the vibrant nightlife, the modern skyline. It looked like a place where anything was possible, where people came to start over. So I took the leap. I sold whatever I could, saved up just enough for a plane ticket, and left Russia without looking back. When I arrived, the energy of the city hit me immediately. It was fast-paced, alive with possibilities, but also overwhelming. I didn’t know anyone, and though I had some money saved, it wasn’t nearly enough to last long. I had a small apartment rented for the first month, but after that, I had no idea what I was going to do. Finding work as a Russian immigrant in Israel wasn’t easy, and my Hebrew was limited to a few basic phrases. I had experience working as a waitress, but the pay in Tel Aviv was low, and the cost of living was higher than I had expected. After a few weeks of searching for jobs and scraping by, reality started to set in. The freedom and excitement I had felt when I first arrived were fading, replaced by the anxiety of not knowing how I was going to survive. That’s when I met Katya. Katya was Russian too, though she had been in Israel for a few years by the time we met. She was confident, glamorous, and seemed to have everything figured out. I ran into her at a café near the beach one evening, and we started talking. She asked about my life, why I had come to Israel, and what I was doing for work. When I told her about my struggles, she listened quietly, and then said something that changed the course of my life. “You know, I can help you,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “There’s a way to make real money here. You don’t have to keep struggling.” I didn’t fully understand what she meant at first, but as we continued talking, it became clear. Katya worked as an escort. Like many of the girls who came to Israel from Russia and Eastern Europe, she had found herself in a difficult situation—unable to make enough money through traditional jobs and searching for something more. Escorting had provided her with the lifestyle she wanted. She had a nice apartment, expensive clothes, and traveled often. Most importantly, she wasn’t struggling anymore. At first, I was taken aback. Escorting wasn’t something I had ever seriously considered. I knew girls back home who had gotten involved in it, but it always seemed so far removed from my own life. Yet, here I was, in a foreign country, with no job, no stability, and no plan. Katya made it sound so easy, almost like a business transaction. She explained that the clients were wealthy, respectful, and often looking for companionship rather than just physical encounters. It was about offering an experience—dinners, parties, even travel. “I’m not saying it’s for everyone,” she said, seeing the hesitation in my eyes. “But if you’re open to it, you could make enough money in a year to completely change your life.” I spent the next few days thinking about her offer. My financial situation was growing more desperate by the day, and the idea of going back to Moscow, defeated, was unbearable. I had come to Israel for a new life, and maybe this was part of that journey. Eventually, I called Katya and told her I wanted to try. The first few months were a blur. Katya introduced me to her network, and I began working almost immediately. At first, it felt strange, even uncomfortable. But the clients were polite, and Katya had been right—the work wasn’t just about sex. Many of the men I met were businessmen, traveling from Europe or the U.S., looking for someone to spend time with during their trips. They wanted conversation, companionship, and a bit of fun, yes, but it was rarely as transactional as I had feared. The money came quickly, more than I had ever earned back in Russia. I started saving immediately, keeping my eyes on the future. For the first time in my life, I felt in control of my financial situation. Within six months, I had enough to pay off my debts, and by the end of the year, I had saved enough to start thinking about buying my own apartment in Tel Aviv. The idea seemed unreal—I had gone from barely making rent to considering property ownership in one of the most expensive cities in the world. As time went on, I became more comfortable in the role I was playing. I learned how to navigate the business, how to maintain boundaries with clients, and how to manage my own expectations. But there were moments when the reality of what I was doing hit me hard. I had to keep my work a secret from almost everyone I knew. My family back in Russia believed I was working a regular job, sending home money from a steady office gig. I never told them the truth. I couldn’t. There were nights when I would come home to my apartment, look at the expensive furniture I had bought, and feel a strange emptiness. I had everything I wanted—financial security, freedom, independence—but it came with a cost. Escorting had changed me, in ways I hadn’t expected. I became more guarded, more distant from the girl I used to be. The girl who had come to Tel Aviv with nothing but hope and a dream was gone, replaced by someone who knew how to navigate a world of luxury, secrecy, and transaction. But despite the emotional toll, I couldn’t deny the freedom it gave me. By the end of that year, I had bought my own apartment—a small but beautiful place near the beach. I had my own space, my own life, and I didn’t owe anyone anything. I could travel when I wanted, take time off when I needed it, and live life on my own terms. Looking back, I’m still not sure how I feel about the choices I made. Part of me is proud—I survived, I thrived, I made a life for myself in a foreign country. But another part of me wonders what I’ve lost along the way. The relationships I’ve missed, the parts of myself I’ve had to suppress, the lies I’ve had to tell. Now, as I sit in my apartment, the Mediterranean breeze coming through the window, I think about what comes next. I know I can’t do this forever, and I don’t want to. But for now, I’m taking things day by day, grateful for the life I’ve built, even if it wasn’t the one I had imagined. Tel Aviv gave me a new life, but it also changed me in ways I’m still trying to understand. I came here looking for freedom, and I found it—just not in the way I expected