Chapter 2 — The First Nickname From Someone
I was walking home from school, my mind spinning in messy circles. Why did someone I barely know actually listen to me last night? Not judge, not ignore—but truly listen. It felt strange, but also... kind of comforting. Could it be that I'd finally found a friend? Someone who didn't vanish after five texts or treat me like I was invisible?
But then again… maybe he's just busy. Or maybe I'm boring. Yeah, that's probably it.
I didn't even know his age, his country, nothing. I gave him my Instagram, but I forgot to ask for his. Ugh. Stupid. So stupid.
Still… something about the way we talked—it felt real. Different. Like someone actually cared. I hoped he'd message me again. I really hoped.
But what if he was just like the others? Here one night, gone the next.
I sighed and flopped onto my bed, still in my school uniform. Maybe I should just sleep. My body felt like sandbags—heavy from staying up 'til 2 a.m. the night before.
ting
My eyes flew open. 9 p.m. already? I must've knocked out the second I got home.
The notification buzzed again. I groaned and grabbed my phone, half expecting it to be another promo or some dumb bot.
ting ting
Another message.
I unlocked the screen.
from: down_good00
Profile pic: black. No face. Kinda creepy.
I hesitated. But my boredom and maybe curiosity—won.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me?"
"Who are you?" I asked again, a little cautious.
"Sorry if I'm annoying you. I'm the person who talked to you last night."
Wait… what? My eyes widened. Finally.. he texted me.
"Oh, ah, sorryyy. I was waiting all day, anonymous person."
"I'm not anonymous."
"I don't even know your name, your country, or your face."
"Fair. I'm Yazid, from Qatar. You know Qatar, right?"
"Yes sir, I do."
Yazid. It sounded soft, like wind on warm sand. I whispered it aloud. Real. Not just another faceless stranger.
"So, why did you want to talk to me?"
"Because you're not like the others. You seemed... real."
My cheeks flushed.
"That means a lot. I was scared you'd disappear like everyone else."
"I'm here now. And I want to keep talking. If that's okay."
A small smile tugged at my lips. Maybe this was the start of something.
"It's more than okay."
"Good. Can I give you a nickname?"
"Nickname?"
"Yeah. Something special. Can I?"
"Sure... what is it?"
"How about... 'Star'?"
I blinked. Star? Out of all names?
"Why 'Star'?"
"Because you shine. Even when you feel like you don't, Lola."
Wait. WHAT.
I choked on my spit.
"Hey, I'm not Lola, anonymous person."
"Hey, I'm not anonymous person."
"Again, sir. I'm Lona. L-O-N-A. My English name, I mean. And I'm from Vietnam."
"Oh oh, Lona. You told me but I remembered wrong. Sorry, Star."
I rolled my eyes and smiled.
"Hmm, Star thinks you better call her Lola. Maybe it's a cute nickname and a ridiculous memory then."
"Sure, ma'am. You're Lola, Lona, and Star."
"Hahaha. Sure I am."
After that funny exchange, something shifted inside me. For once, the crushing loneliness didn't feel so unbearable. Yazid wasn't like the others. He didn't flake. He didn't judge. He didn't make me feel like I was too much.
We ended up chatting for hours.
"Do you ever feel like you're stuck, Yazid? Like... invisible?"
"All the time. But sometimes, you just have to find that one light. Maybe I'm your light, Lola."
I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness. But... my heart fluttered.
"You're cheesy."
"Guilty. But I mean it."
I wanted to tell him about school—how they fat-shamed me, how I lost my leadership position, how I felt like I was slowly disappearing into nothing. But I was scared.
Still, I typed something.
"It's hard when people judge you for things you can't control."
"I know. But you're stronger than they think."
Stronger. That word made my chest ache.
Was I?
We swapped stories. He told me about Qatar—sandstorms, strict teachers, malls bigger than villages. I told him about Vietnam—my chaotic family, the noisy streets, the smell of noodle soup floating into every corner.
He couldn't pronounce phở. I couldn't say Al Wakrah. We laughed until our cheeks hurt.
Days passed. Yazid became part of my life. Not just a text buddy—he became home.
Every night, I waited for his message. The "Star" jokes. The weird memes. The voice notes.
"Do you have friends there? Real ones?" I asked one night.
"Not really. I focus on grades. But yeah, sometimes I hang with the guys at night."
"Same. Talking to you... it feels real."
"Same here. Like our own little world."
One night, he sent something heavy.
"I almost gave up on everything last year."
"What happened?"
"Family pressure. Feeling like I'd never be enough."
I froze. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then I wrote:
"You're not useless, Yazid. You're amazing."
"Thanks, lolaa. You're the first person who made me believe that."
My chest squeezed. Someone finally understood.
I told him about that girl at school—the one who whispered behind my back.
"I want to stand up to her. But I'm scared."
"I'll be your backup. You're stronger than you think."
"Thanks, Yazid. You really are my star."
He laughed. "And you're my shining 'Lola.'"
Our chats became lifelines. On the days when I cried silently in class or stared blankly at my reflection, his texts pulled me back.
One night, he sent a voice message.
"Hey Lola, just wanted to say you're stronger than you think. Keep shining, okay?"
I stared at the screen, tears blurring the words. His voice was soft. Kind. Real.
Not a stranger.
Not anymore.
I whispered back, "I'll try."
I wasn't just a sad girl behind a screen.
I was someone. Worth knowing. Worth loving. Worth fighting for.
And Yazid—the boy from Qatar who called me Star—was the first person who ever made me believe it.