Surjo gave his head a violent shake to brush everything aside. Then, lowering his head, he spoke in a cracked voice, "I understand... actually... I feel very bad for you."
The girl's helplessness pierced through Surjo's chest. But surprisingly, Osman shared that same melancholy. After a moment of silence, Osman spoke in a mechanical yet deep resonance, "Well Surjo... how about we do something?"
Surjo looked up. Osman continued, "You should be the one to give this girl a name. Just like... once upon a time, you gave me mine—'Osman'."
Surjo looked at Osman, bewildered. "Actually Osman... can I...?"
"Yes Surjo," Osman cut him off with a firm tone, "It is only right."
The girl now looked at Surjo with curious eyes. A note of disbelief touched her voice, "Are you... really going to give me a name?"
"Yes, I will. You desperately need an identity. But... let me think for a bit..." Surjo dived into deep thought. After a while, he stood up straight and said, "Tell me... do you have a big dream? I want to choose a name that matches your dream."
The moment she heard the word 'dream,' the girl's pupils lit up; it was as if a lamp that had been extinguished for years was suddenly relit. She spoke in a thrilled voice, "A shooting star... standing on the high peak of a distant mountain, seeing a... shooting star in the starry sky! How beautiful that would be! That is my dream."
While Surjo recognized the word 'star,' a 'shooting star' was far beyond the reach of his small brain. He turned to Osman, having absolute faith in Osman's storehouse of knowledge.
"Osman... what exactly is this 'shooting star' thing?"
"You don't know? No problem, I'm here!" Osman began to speak in a mechanical yet reassuring tone. "I'll try to explain it as simply as possible. What the girl calls a 'shooting star' isn't actually a fixed star. These are small rocks or dust particles from space—meteoroids; they burn up due to friction with the air when entering the Earth's atmosphere. And right then, a streak of light is created in the sky."
After hearing such a detailed explanation, what entered Surjo's head was—absolutely nothing. He stared blankly with wide eyes. "I... didn't understand a thing."
Osman snapped in a metallic tone, "You don't need to understand! Just pick a name already!"
"Okay, okay, why are you getting angry? I get it all," Surjo tried to manage the situation quickly. "A shooting star means something like a star. So listen... from today, your name will be 'Tara'. Bright just like the stars in that sky!"
Hearing the name, the girl seemed to tremble from within. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Finally, someone had called her by a name. More importantly—someone had chosen a name for her. she had found an identity—'Tara'.
Surjo was startled to see her crying, "Hey! Why... why are you crying again?"
Osman spoke in a calm voice, "Let her cry... these are tears of joy, not of sorrow."
"Oh, I see!" Surjo looked at Tara. Seeing the girl's tear-streaked face no longer made him feel bad; instead, he felt a strange sense of peace. He knew these tears were not from pain.
Just then, Osman threw a question at Surjo, "Now tell me the real reason... why come here so suddenly this late at night?"
Surjo thought for a moment, looking at Osman. Then he suddenly cried out in excitement, "I remember now!"
He handed Tara's broken violin over to Osman.
Osman was as much surprised as he was thrilled to see the object. Taking the violin very cautiously, he murmured, "A... violin..."
"Osman, you know what a violin is?" Surjo's voice was full of wonder.
"Why wouldn't I know, Surjo?" A deep nostalgia played through Osman's mechanical voice. "Even in those horrific days of war—where there was only lamentation, death, and mounds of destruction—this violin kept the melody of survival alive in human hearts. It was a flicker of hope amidst the darkness."
If Osman were a flesh-and-blood human, perhaps his eyes would have grown misty at this moment.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Surjo asked, "Tell me Osman... is the melody of this violin truly that beautiful?"
"Incredibly beautiful, Surjo. Unimaginable." Osman began to examine the instrument minutely. Suddenly, his mechanical fingers stopped. "But... one of its strings is snapped."
Surjo's face turned pale instantly. He whispered despondently, "Osman... can you fix it?"
Osman nodded his neck steadily. The moment he said 'yes,' the dam of Surjo's excitement broke. How long had he been waiting to hear this magical melody! Now, it seemed, that wait was coming to an end.
A spark of joy lit up Tara's eyes as well. She seemed unable to believe that her beloved instrument would find its soul again.
Surjo suddenly reached out his hand toward Tara. "Make a pinky promise... that after the violin is fixed, you'll play it for me!"
Tara smiled gently and locked her finger with Surjo's small one. A sacred vow amidst the darkness—a pinky promise.
Osman burst into a mechanical laugh seeing the scene. "Aha! That's the thing... the one I taught you, isn't it?"
Surjo grinned, showing his teeth. "Yes, Osman... you got it exactly right!" Surjo couldn't wait. The question swirling in his mind suddenly slipped out, "Tell me Osman... exactly how many days will it take to fix this?"
Osman gave a soft chuckle. "Haha... it won't take much time. It will find its voice by tomorrow evening."
"Great!" A glow of satisfaction appeared on Surjo's face.
But right then, Tara's quiet voice shattered the surrounding silence, "But... where will I stay until tomorrow evening?"
Surjo's blood ran cold. Suddenly, he remembered the real purpose. The main reason for bringing Tara to Osman's lair in the middle of the night was—to avoid giving her shelter in his own dilapidated shack.
But Osman, as if unable to read the flip side of Surjo's mind, poured cold water over all of Surjo's plans by saying quite simply, "Why? At Surjo's house!"