“Hello. My name is Huang Zitao.”

My voice suddenly sounds dry and raw, not how I ever remember sounding.  I feel like it’s been a long time since I’ve stood in front of a crowd. 

“Thank you very much,” I hear the professor say as he points a finger toward the back of the classroom.  “There’s an empty desk in the fifth row.  You can have a seat there.”

You can have a seat there. There’s a place open for you.  There’s room for you here.  It’s been a while since I’ve heard such comfortable words.

I nod simply as I scan the room for a way to get to my new seat.  I squeeze precariously between two files of desks, wary as not to bump into anyone.  A game of tuck and dodge.

But just as I expect, a leg shoves out from under a table and knocks me harshly in the left shin.  I’m reminded of my time spent as a target for harassment in a run-down high-school less than a year ago. My fist clenches instinctively. 

The empty chair seems miles away now.

The provoker notices my grim expression and widens his eyes with a mocking smile. “Sorry, man,” he muses.  The person sitting beside him slaps his back appraisingly and they chuckle softly at each other. 

I detect the adversity of pitiful gazes directed at me.

I ignore them and move on, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the observers as I continue down the rows. I pass desk by desk, my senses on edge, waiting for a foot to trip me or an offensive remark to emerge.  But I make it to the fifth row without another conflict.

I slip into my seat thankfully.  I stare at my balled fists resting on the desk and take a deep breath.  Bitterness rings in my ears and hostility pounds in my chest. There is not a single soul that isn’t against me, I’m sure of it.

In less than a minute, the person sitting in the desk in front of me spins around in her chair to look at me.  I prepare to receive a mindless insult, but instead she smiles broadly and holds out her hand.  I don’t know how to respond.

“Hi,” she says.  “I’m             . It’s nice to meet you.”