The Name Between Two Worlds

Lexile: 1070 | Grade: 9

Passage

At school, they called him Daniel. Quick, easy, familiar. Teachers didn’t stumble over it, and classmates didn’t ask him to repeat it twice. But at home, in the narrow apartment filled with the smells of cardamom and cumin, he was Daaniyal.

His mother always said it in full—stretching the vowels like a melody. His grandmother embroidered it on cloth, smooth and precise in Arabic script. He used to love the shape of it. But somewhere around seventh grade, he stopped correcting people.

It wasn’t a big moment—just a slow erosion. Like when rain doesn't fall all at once but still manages to reshape stone.

He knew what they would say: *It’s just a name.* But that wasn’t true. Daaniyal was the name whispered in his ear during his aqiqah. It was the name that carried his grandfather’s prayer and the weight of a language he didn’t speak well enough to defend.

In English class, he once wrote a story and signed it 'Daaniyal.' When it was returned, his teacher had crossed it out and replaced it: *Daniel — great job!* He didn’t say anything.

Now, in high school, his identities lived parallel lives. Daniel answered questions in class. Daniel laughed with friends in the lunchroom. But Daaniyal sat quietly during parent-teacher night, translating for his mother while avoiding eye contact with teachers who mispronounced both their names.

One afternoon, his history teacher assigned a personal timeline project. 'Mark the milestones that shaped who you are,' she said. That night, Daaniyal stared at the blank paper. He wrote: *1995: Born in New York. 1999: First Eid with my family. 2005: Learned to write my name in Arabic. 2007: Stopped using it.*

He didn’t turn it in the next day. He wasn’t sure which version of himself had written it.

By the end of the week, the paper was folded and soft at the edges. He finally placed it on the teacher’s desk without a word. When she handed it back later, she hadn’t graded it. She had written only a note at the bottom: *Thank you for sharing both versions of your story.*