VII

VII. V

777: What's your name?

Armaan had stared down at his screen for what felt like hours, not knowing how or whether he should even bother to respond to the question.

If he ignored it, made a purposeful choice not to respond, would she make a choice too? One he didn't want her to make?

A decision where he'd be left behind and she'd move on to...someone or something else.

No. He swallowed the bile in his throat.

No. He wouldn't allow it.

Dabangg: Does it matter now?

He hated himself.

So close yet so far away from revealing what he likely should have revealed long ago.

Abhira frowned at the robotic voice in her ears. It was apt, she thought, a robotic voice for a robotic man. He didn't seem to be very emotionally charged.

Perhaps it was because she'd always hidden her own emotions with a bite of sarcasm, perhaps he was just the type to be as distant as he could be, either way, she knew if she was asking him to confess then she should too.

777: It mattered at the start.

Three months ago, when he'd received an unknown number's message on a chat app that was full of insults and anger, he'd been quick to respond the same.

It lasted an entire hour until she said "Oh my goodness, I think I have the wrong person".

He'd laughed then. A sound so unfamiliar, he almost choked.

He wasn't aware that was something he could do; laugh, that is.

Though he was capable of much, he'd always marked any form of happiness as an incapability, she'd shown him differently.

In one moment, she'd changed his life, and that's when he knew he needed her.

Then a habit had formed, she'd push him to reveal, he'd push back to stay hidden and somehow between the unrelenting back and forth, he'd made a bond.

The unrelenting type that he'd run to after a hard day; some chose alcohol, some chose drugs, he chose her.

An addiction is what any Doctor in rehab would call it, but he'd never diminish her that way.

Abhira was his life line.

So, he'd took in every word she said, every fact he learnt felt like he was seeping even deeper into her thrall, and the worst part, she had no idea what she did to him, no idea how she'd changed his life.

She'd said her name was Abhira, she was in her early twenties and she had lost her sight at ten years old. She'd never revealed much more and though he wanted to know, he'd never asked.

How could he when he was hiding so much himself?

Dabangg: Would it change anything now?

Her response, instant.

777: It would make my day.

At that, he froze. Make her day?

"Just a name" he thought aloud, but it wasn't, was it? It was *his* name.

Where he came from, names mattered. They were the only label one could have to mean a multitude of different things, it was not a label one had to live up to or live within; it was freedom, it was...his.