“What do you usually go by?” she asked. I’m not so sure. Once, in high school, I was a number, an odd one, when my physics teacher asked my name and heard only the first of its three syllables, the other two softly slipping from my mouth into thin air. “Your mother named you three?” she chuckled. “No, miss! His name is Trivikram,” the class cackled. My beating heart stumbled out of my chest, my stomach seized, and my eyes searched for my sinking shoes. They say I am lucky that name didn’t stick. Her snicker and their laughter did.
Trivikram Pujar is a fiction writer living in Princeton, New Jersey. His short fiction has appeared in Free Spirit, Half and One, and Eggplant Emoji Lit. Instagram and X: @trivikrampujar