malalai khan

It’s the second last day of high school.
The final viva is taken for the practicals.

My roll number is called.

I walk up to the desk
and exchange a glance
with my friend
who is eavesdropping from the next table. 

I sit on the worn out 
black leather armchair 
and take a deep breath. 

The examiner looks at a sheet of paper
and asks me my name. 

I reply in a small voice,
“Malalai.”

She looks up at me
And asks me the meaning of my name.

I simply answer,
“Sad.”

My homeroom teacher blinks
and stares at me.
“Pardon?”

“Sad. Melancholy.”

She continues,
“Your parents should have chosen
a better name. 
Names can have a strong impact
on the personality.”

“I was named after an Afghan folk heroine…”
I say in a small voice.

The examiner has been looking at me
the whole time, nodding. 
Our eyes meet. 
I gulp. 

The homeroom teacher asks,
“You aren’t sad, are you?”

I simply reply,
“No, just a bit introverted.”
And curve my lips into a smile. 

The examiner then starts the viva
which finishes in a minute. 

I get up
and walk away to my desk.

I lie a lot.