Crossing the field washed in the silvery moonlight, Surjo and the girl began to walk back along that familiar path. The very road Surjo had traversed alone with exhausted feet just a short while ago, he now stepped upon for the second time, its dust clinging to his boots. After a day of running and fighting, every muscle in Surjo's body should have been in open rebellion, yet—strangely enough—he felt no fatigue at all.
Of course, traveling the same road twice felt somewhat beneath his dignity. He muttered to himself, "yoke! Does it really suit a hero to keep circling the same path?" But the moment he stole a glance at the girl, his irritation vanished like mist. She was smiling! In this world of ruins, the price of an innocent smile was immeasurable to Surjo. The mention of the 'violin's melody' was still echoing in his ears. He didn't quite know what a 'melody' was, but his heart was restless to hear her fulfill that confident promise.
…
Eventually, they came to a halt in front of Osman's sanctuary—a narrow alley carved out of the same jagged heaps of iron and refuse.
Because of the faint moonlight, it wasn't pitch black. The world was blurry, but there was just enough light to see.
The moment the girl saw Osman, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers, and her mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. Osman had no lower half, no legs. Even his left arm was missing. He simply hung there, a mechanical skeleton with glowing sensors.
Turning to Surjo, the girl whispered in a trembling voice, "Surjo... you didn't tell me Osman was a robot!"
Surjo scratched his forehead, looking a bit sheepish. "Hey, he's not just a robot; he's my wisest friend! He knows everything."
Osman swiveled his mechanical neck toward the girl. His sensors flickered with red and blue lights as if he were scanning the newcomer.
Hearing the girl's last remark, Surjo added, "I'm sorry, I forgot to mention it!"
The girl replied instantly, "It's no problem," while slowly shaking her head in a dismissive gesture.
They stood before Osman. Surjo began to call out, "Osman, hey Osman..."
Osman's eyes had been shut until then; they flickered open at Surjo's call. Despite being a robot, Osman slept like a human—a truly wondrous thing!
As soon as his eyes opened, he spoke:
"Surjo, haven't you gone home? What are you doing here so late? And who is this girl standing next to you?" Seeing a girl with Surjo clearly surprised Osman.
Surjo replied, "Forget all that, I'll tell the long story later."
"First, tell me this: what is the girl's name?" Osman inquired.
Surjo froze. He had been talking to her all this time, becoming friends, yet he didn't even know her name!
Finally, he turned to the girl and asked for her name. Seeing this, Osman put his hand to his forehead and muttered, "I really can't deal with this boy!"
Surjo asked, his voice tinged with a bit of melancholy as if seeking a silent apology for his foolishness, "What is your name?"
The girl remained silent, looking at Surjo with a strange sense of wonder, as if he had asked something incredibly bizarre. In a hesitant voice, she replied, "My name... actually—I don't have a name."
Surjo and Osman both started at once, "What! You don't have a name?" Two pairs of eyes locked onto her in disbelief.
The girl tried to finish her incomplete thought, "...Is it very important to have a name?"
Osman spoke up in a grave tone, "Yes, having a name is essential. A name is how a person's existence is identified. Without a name, providing an identity is nearly impossible."
The girl gave a faint smile and spoke again, "...Actually, I don't have a name because I never had a need for one. Until today, I've never met anyone who would call me by a name. There was never anyone in my life to give me one. I could have chosen a name for myself, but what's the use—if there is no one in this world to call out that name?"
A knot of confusion tightened in a corner of Surjo's brain. The fact that he felt confused was surprising in itself, as his mental gears didn't usually jam over complex thoughts. But at this moment, the threads of his thinking were becoming tangled.
He remembered that just before coming here, the girl had mentioned someone who had left her behind. Unable to restrain his curiosity, Surjo threw out a question, "Well... didn't that person call you by any name?"
The girl didn't answer immediately. She slowly shook her head. Her pupils were fixed, as if staring at a blurry scene far in the distance. After a long while, she spoke in a dull voice, "My memories... they are quite hazy."
She paused. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "After he left, I did nothing but wait for him. Days, months, years... just waiting. But he never returned."
Surjo stared at her, unblinking. The girl added, without even a flutter of her eyelashes, "However... the day he did return... by then, it was much too late."
"What do you mean, too late?"—Surjo's confusion hit him with a sharp jolt. His brows furrowed. He wanted to touch the darkness hidden within those words. "What happened then?"
But the girl shifted the subject with ease. With a mechanical indifference, as if nothing had happened at all, she said, "I don't... quite remember."
Surjo watched her, bewildered. The meaning of her words didn't quite penetrate his mind; everything seemed to fly right over his head. The mystery began to thicken like a heavy fog.
Yet, Osman, despite having heard everything, didn't seem to care at all. Though he possessed the sharpest intellect among them, the girl's mysterious talk didn't even seem to register. He remained completely indifferent. No questions, no counter-arguments, no response—as if, in this moment, he didn't exist at all.