The Nameless Stranger

A name is usually the first thing we learn about a person, but that was definitely not the case at this meeting.

Sitting in front of me is a man; his strawberry-red hair cut short, with the heavy curls creating a puff-like look to his head. Looking out the window, his eyes scanning the countryside as we move past, on the way to the city—our destination.

“Exciting. you know, coming home and all,” the man, whose name is still unknown to me, says, repeating the same comment. The comment he would say every time I would ask for his name. This would then start the conversation about his time living with his parents in the city.

“Said that,” I respond, getting tired of this roundabout.

Laughter fills the space, not a mocking kind of laugh but a gentle I'm ridiculous kind of laugh. “So I have, but it’s true. I did move away when I was very young after my mom died. My dad didn’t think he could raise me, so he sent me to my grandparents.”

“What did you say their names were?” I cut in, hoping he would slip and I would get some clue as to who he was. This conversation couldn’t just end without getting something.

“That’s a boring detail,” he shrugs, his response flat as if it wouldn’t be worth sharing. “And besides, you lose the magic of people when you learn their names.” He waves his hand passively.

“But how do you remember someone?”

“There are a lot of things to remember about people, and if you never see them again, what’s the point in wasting your mind space on a pointless face?”

Back into that rabbit hole again, I think, rolling my eyes. This man, with all the stories he shared, never once gave a name. That should be saved for at least the second meeting, the words he said earlier from the first time I pushed him on his name replaying in my mind. “And besides, it will be something to look forward to if we ever meet again.”

“But how could I get your attention for anything?” I clinch my fist trying to keeping the irritation out of my voice.

“Well, depending on how long it takes, you may not even remember my name.”

“Okay, that’s a fair point… but we are going to the same place,” I reply, hoping that he will bite.

“Dalten City is quite a large place.”

“Okay, yeah, true.” My shoulders drop down a bit, matching my deflated sense of hope. So let’s try a different tack, I think before asking my next question. “So you said you’re coming back to live with your father since your grandparents passed?”

“Yep.” His response was quite flat, feeling like he’s baiting me back.

“Dalten School of High Magic, that’s where I’m going.”

“There’s still the exam you’ll need to pass.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll pass it!” I say, determination swelling up inside as I put my fist in front of me. Our bodies gently sway as the train begins to slow. Turning, we both look out the window at the scene of the countryside—the rolling green hills dotted with trees gently swaying in the breeze. I could almost hear the songs of birds if it weren’t for the noise of the train overshadowing it. I don’t have much time to think about it when suddenly the scene changes to a brick wall. The train enters a tunnel that travels through the city wall, the air becoming heavier. The tunnel quickly opens up, revealing the city with its towering buildings, the streets full of life as people and several different varieties of transport pass each other.

“Listen for me, I’ll be rooting for your success,” he says, standing up to collect his stuff, my attention moving from the sprawling city. I can feel as the train begins to stop.

“But how will you know who to root for? Not knowing my name and all?” I reply, my hope for getting his name seeming to be lost.

“Train girl, that’s what I’ll call you.” He smiles down at me, handing over my bag. “And when you pass, we’ll trade names.” Eyes locking, he gives me a smile, his rich light brown skin glowing in the sunlight. Slowly, I reach up, grabbing my bag from him, my eyes not leaving his rich forest-green ones.

When the weight of the bag is fully felt in my hand, I look slightly away, moving my focus to just the side of his head. “Deal then. When I pass, you give me your name. No games.”

“No games.” He nods in agreement before turning to leave the train. The idea of learning his name seems to add fuel to my drive. I will pass. I have to, I think as I get up and try to follow behind, but it is no use as he is lost from my view in the crowd.