01/12/2026
Once upon a time, when walking through the village streets, someone's voice would be heard— see more story**https://url-shortener.me/7B9S**
“Hey kid!”
“That little guy, come home!”
The names were small, but there was love like mountains in them.
The kid grew up. He went to school. No one called him kid anymore—he was called by his roll number. When he went to college, he became “brother,” “friend,” “classmate.” When he entered the office, his name changed even more—“sir,” “manager,” “Hey, you’re listening.”
One day, he noticed that no one had called him by his real name for a long time.
Even his mother now says on the phone,
“Listen, come when you have time.”
The place for the name remains empty.
The nicknames seem to have been washed away by the current of time—kid, kid, baby…
No one needs them anymore. All they need is an identity, a surname, and a job title.
****https://url-shortener.me/7B9S***
****https://url-shortener.me/7B9S***
One night, standing in front of the mirror, he asked himself—
“Who am I really?”
No name came to answer this question.
Because time not only gradually makes people grow,
it takes away people's names,
it takes away their nicknames,
and finally takes away—even the language of knowing oneself.
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***https://url-shortener.me/7B9S***
Yet somewhere in an old courtyard,
on some afternoon,
maybe that name still floats in the air—
a name soaked in love,
which, when heard, could be understood—
this name is mine alone.
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