Her Real Name – Part 1: Messages

A year of messages and one last secret.

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The first message had been about a photograph of a canal at dawn. Daniel had posted it in a small online group for amateur photographers, with a caption that was too long and a typo in the first line. Lina had replied with a comment about the light, and he had written back two hours later, apologising for the delay and asking whether she had ever tried shooting film.

That was twelve months ago. Now she knew the exact shape of his messages at midnight, when he was tired and honest, and the way they changed on Sunday mornings, when he wrote about his sister's children and his mother's cooking.

She knew he worked as an electrician in Kreuzberg. She knew he had a cat named Keller, who had a habit of walking across his keyboard in the middle of a sentence. She knew he was the kind of man who apologised to furniture when he bumped into it.

She did not know what he looked like when he laughed, because they had never met. Lina had made excuses for that, one after another. The timing was wrong. Her job at the hospital was too demanding. He was in Hamburg for a family wedding. The weather was bad.

The truth was that she was afraid.

Not of him. Of the moment he would see her face, and the expression in his eyes would change.

She sat on the edge of her bed in her small flat in Neukölln, her phone in her hands, the screen glowing softly in the dark. It was past midnight. Outside, a tram rattled along the street, and somewhere below a couple was arguing in Turkish, their voices rising and falling.

Daniel's last message was still open on the screen.

Goodnight, Lina. Keller says hello. He's sitting on my keyboard again, which means I'm not going to sleep for a while. I'd rather be talking to you anyway.

She smiled, then felt the smile slip.

She opened a new message and typed: There's something I need to tell you. In person, if you'll let me. I'm sorry it's taken so long.

She stared at it for a long time before she pressed send.

His reply came within a minute.

Lina, you can tell me anything. You know that. Are you okay?

She took a deep breath and started to write again, her hands trembling, the cursor blinking patiently at the end of each line.

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Next: Part 2, Coffee in Kreuzberg. A meeting in person, a truth told plainly, and the answer Lina did not expect.