n o r e z a

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I walk into class and the children don't spare me a second glance.

I'm not the only Asian
and I silently thank God
for the insignificantly tiny

blessing.

Chairs scrape as kids
find their places 
on the color coded tables.

I make my way to a window seat
and hang my bag on my chair's backrest.

The Pakistani girl next to me
smiles.

Her tan face splitting
as her lips stretch.

I try to smile back
and she beams,

"My name's Noreza, what's yours?"

"Harmony," then I remember my manners, "nice to meet you."

"I'm a bit nervous, you know. But I heard that our teacher is really nice."


I hum, smile and look down,
wondering if I can 
really,
truely,
actually,
befriend

Noreza.

 



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