# Exam The question paper trembles in my hands— a white flag of surrender before the battle has begun. I read the first question twice, thrice, as if repetition might birth an answer from the margins of my mind. The clock ticks like a judge's gavel. Around me, pens scratch their verdict on lined pages that will decide who I am supposed to be. My thoughts scatter like startled birds from a suddenly opened cage— I cannot gather them back. The girl beside me writes with certainty. I envy her hands, the way they know their way across the paper, confident as prayer. Outside, the world continues. Trees do not sit for exams. Clouds pass their days without trembling. But here, in this fluorescent room, I am being measured against an invisible ruler, weighed in a balance that only the examiners understand. When I finally write my name at the top of the page, I am not sure if I am signing my answer or saying goodbye to someone I might have been.