Her name was Mira.
He had known it before, of course—heard it in passing, seen it written—but he had avoided thinking it too clearly. Names made things solid. Names anchored people to reality, and reality had a way of resisting the stories he preferred to tell.
Still, there it was.
Mira.
He repeated it silently once, then stopped himself, irritated by how easily the habit returned.
His own name—Elias—felt heavier these days. Less like an identity and more like a reminder. The man who had watched too closely. The man who had mistaken attention for connection. Elias had done those things. Owning the name meant owning the behavior.
They crossed paths again weeks later, in a way that felt almost ceremonial in its ordinariness.
"Elias," Mira said, nodding when she saw him.
Hearing his name in her voice startled him more than it should have. Not because of intimacy—there was none—but because of neutrality. She said it the way one says a fact. Clean. Unloaded.
"Mira," he replied.
The exchange felt balanced in a way nothing between them had before. Two names. Two people. No hidden weight pressing beneath the syllables.
They stood briefly, neither rushing to fill the space.
"I wanted to say," Elias began, then paused. Old instincts urged him to explain too much, to frame the past in language that softened its edges. He resisted. "I heard you when you asked for space. I'm respecting that."
Mira studied him, not cautiously, but attentively.
"I can see that," she said. "Thank you."
There was no forgiveness implied in her tone—only acknowledgment. Elias realized then that he had been waiting for absolution he hadn't earned and didn't need. Respect wasn't a transaction. It was a practice.
"I'm not trying to be anything to you," he added, surprising himself with the honesty. "I just wanted to be clear."
Clarity. The word felt different coming from him now—less like a strategy, more like a responsibility.
Mira nodded once. "That matters."
They didn't linger after that. No new understanding blossomed. No door opened. And yet, as they went their separate ways, Elias felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Not loss.
Relief.
He understood, finally, that saying her name didn't give him access to her. And hearing his didn't bind her to him. Names, he realized, were not claims.