The name without a face...

The screen glowed dimly in the darkness of Adarsh’s room. He hadn’t moved much in the past few hours. The air felt stale, and his body, stiff. The message still lingered on his screen.

“You okay?”

A simple question, yet it felt like someone had reached through the shadows of his mind and touched the rawest part of his soul.

He stared at the message for hours before replying.

“Who are you?”

No response. He locked the phone and tossed it aside, frustrated. But ten minutes later, the screen lit up again.

“Someone who knows pain.”

His heart skipped a beat. That wasn't a name. That wasn't an identity. But it felt real — honest.

He sat up for the first time that day. The silence was louder than before.

Adarsh: “That’s not a name.”

Stranger: “Does it matter? Names lie sometimes. Pain doesn’t.”

He paused, fingers above the keyboard. He knew that better than anyone.

Adarsh: “You really wanna talk, or are you just trying to play therapist?”

Stranger: “Neither. I just want you to know you're not alone.”

Adarsh scoffed silently. Alone? He was the definition of that word. But still... he kept typing.

---

The days that followed blurred together like a fogged mirror. He didn’t go out. He barely ate. The world outside didn’t feel real anymore — like a show he was no longer part of. He would lie on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, waiting for the next message from the stranger.

And they always came. Always at the right moment. When he was about to cry. When he almost messaged Kunal out of habit. When he stared too long at the blades in the kitchen.

Their chats became a lifeline. A secret place where he didn’t have to pretend. Where his pain was not mocked or questioned.

---

One night, the stranger wrote:

“Do you still blame yourself for being... you?”

That message cracked something inside him. He wanted to scream. Instead, he wrote:

“Every damn second.”

Then another message followed:

“I think if someone knew how much you hated yourself for being real… they'd want to hold you, not leave you.”

Adarsh froze.

It felt like something he had once said to Kunal, back when they were still we.

He scrolled up to check.

No. It wasn't the same. But it was close — too close.