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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.