This is about Eid — the day when we are all wrapped in happiness. On that day, we get dressed up beautifully, greet everyone with warm smiles, and of course, receive Eidi. Though everyone claims the purpose of getting ready is celebration, deep down we all know there's one shared motive — taking pictures.
But that day, I decided something else was more important. Instead of obsessing over photos, I focused on enjoying sweets. And that's exactly what I did. After getting ready, I was happily indulging in desserts when, as usual, I made a snap — almost like a little vlog — and sent it to everyone, including him. My Snapchat has only my friends, no one else. After sending it, I didn't even think about it again. I got busy and didn't get a moment to touch my phone.
Around 9 PM, when I finally changed and became free, I checked my phone and saw that he had saved the snap. The moment I noticed, I immediately deleted it. Soon after, a reply came: "Why did you delete the snap?"
I asked him, "Why did you save it?"
He said casually, "Just like that."
Laughing, I replied, "Oh really? And when do you ever send snaps yourself?"
Then he asked, "Are you free?"
I said, "You're asking that now?"
He answered, "I wanted to ask much earlier, but I knew you wouldn't be free."
I wondered why he always had such perfectly timed answers.
A little while later, he suddenly video-called me. I texted him, asking why he was calling. He replied, "For a fit check."
I accepted the call — and that was my biggest mistake.
The moment I picked up, there he was. That same radiant face that had once drawn me in. That familiar smile. His face looked so fresh and clean that even his smile lines were clearly visible. And that kurta — it suited him so perfectly. The instant I saw him, butterflies erupted in my stomach. I knew I had made a mistake, because now, after seeing him like that, I would not be able to stop thinking about him.
I teased, "Are you showing your face or doing a fit check?"
He replied, "Whichever catches your attention more, consider that the answer."
Hearing that, I immediately started blushing. My camera was off, and thankfully, I was alone in my room.
All I wanted to do was keep looking at him. He looked exactly the way he had the very first time I saw him. Even a single smile from him sent tickles through my stomach.
He said, "Won't you give me a fit check?"
I replied, "I've already changed. You saved the snap — didn't you see?"
Laughing, he said, "But you deleted it too."
I responded, "Wasn't one look enough when you saved it?"
Still smiling, he asked, "Why have you been staring at me for so long?"
I said, "Your camera is on — who else would I look at?"
Then he asked, "Do I look handsome?"
I replied, "Is that even a question?"
Perhaps saying that was my mistake, but my tongue has never really been under my control.
He smiled and said, "Wow, that's quite a unique way to compliment someone."
Trying to defend myself, I quickly added, "You looked decent for the first time, so I said it"
He smiled and said, "Well, it's the first compliment I've ever received from you. Now I'll remember it forever."
I replied playfully, "Everyone remembers praise about themselves."
He looked at camera and said softly, "Only compliment from certain people's are remembered forever"
The moment he said that, my cheeks grew warmer, and I began to blush even more.
Just then, someone entered his room. He quickly placed his phone down, but the call was still connected, and I could hear everything clearly. The voice was his elder brother's, speaking to him about something. I did not pay much attention because their conversation had nothing to do with me.
And then — in the middle of it — I heard a name.
His brother said, "_____ , come outside quickly."
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that name was meant for him.
That was the moment.
After almost a year of talking, I finally came to know his real name. It felt like such a big revelation, such a small word carrying so much meaning. A quiet joy filled my heart — the kind that makes you smile for no reason.
He returned to the phone and said he had to step outside for some work. I asked him his brother's name.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, "Why are you asking my brother's name?"
I shrugged and said, "Just like that."
He told me his brother's name. Then, gathering a little courage, I asked, "Won't you tell me your name?"
He smiled and replied, "I'll tell you next time."
Hearing that, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. Little did he know — I already knew it. And that secret happiness inside me felt almost magical.
Just then, my sister called out for me. I told him I had to go. He said he also needed to leave. And just like that, we both ended the call.
After hanging up, I practically ran — laughing and glowing — to my sisters. I told them everything. Every little detail. And most importantly, I told them that I had finally discovered his name.
But I received no dramatic reaction. No widened eyes. No excited screams. After months of talking endlessly about him, I had probably exhausted their interest. I could clearly see that they were no longer invested in my stories, even though they still listened patiently.
That night, however, none of it mattered.
Because as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his smile replayed in my mind again and again. His voice echoed in my thoughts. And that newly discovered name — his name — felt like a treasure I kept repeating softly in my heart.
I did not sleep the entire night.
I stayed awake, smiling to myself, lost in thoughts of him — and in the sweet, restless joy of knowing just a little more about the boy who had somehow begun to mean so much to me...