Nameless

"What about that guy in the blue shirt?" he asked her
She concentrated hard, on the guy and his cigarette
The lines forming on her forehead reminded him
Of his cursive writing practices and his childhood poems
"He should be a Mahesh" she finally announced
Immediately, he disagreed
Not because he wanted to but simply because he liked to
Theirs had been a bonding built upon arguments
"Absolutely not. He, clearly, is an Arjun" he said
She threw him a stare that made him wonder
If it was the same stare she threw her mirror every morning
Examining that sleep had not turned her into a different person
He opened his mouth to continue the game
But she placed her index finger to latch his lips
"It is a beautiful night" she said
He shut up, letting silence seep in the small space between their shoulders.

The breeze blowing on their faces seemed introverted
There was more intent than what was expressed
A streak of red was visible across the sky
Maybe from the taillights of all the vehicles lined up in traffic to reach home
The people around seemed busier than usual
Like they always do when we live through our favorite moments
"Why should everything have a name?" she asked
Her questions were always abstract, deep and sudden
Like the questions of most little kids
And he always found it impossible to conceal his amazement
Like the immediate reactions of most proud fathers
"Not everything has a name. Look at the stars. Look at the plants..." he replied
Her face immediately lit up in its usual way
Her eyes closing like the leaves of a touch-me-not plant
Her smile growing like a crescent moon
"... or for a simpler answer, just look at us" he finished
Her widespread smile lessened to a grateful one
A thin layer of water appeared over eyes, making them shiny
He loved the layer for it always showed him what she did not share
She slowly bent her head down, registering the moment in her mind
Their shoulders touched, like the ends of unobserved earphones meet
The breeze blew harder, letting a hair strand from her head
Encircle itself over his fingers
He looked at her lowered head
Her hair strands and her stories seemed infinite
Similar was the warmth blooming inside him
He had previously felt it in his mother's womb.