More Than a Name, Less Than a Stranger

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I don’t know all of you yet.

I mean, I know your name, your age, and your features.

But knowing you deeply? Hmm, not quite yet.

Look at it this way —

I can know the title of a book, but knowing the whole story, the plot twists, and the meaning between its pages requires me to read it chapter by chapter.

I know you, but not all of you.

I want to know more than your name. I want to know the names of your friends, the names of the things you love, the names of the things you avoid, and all the little things that matter to you.

I know you, but not all of you.

I want to know more than your age. I want to know what you’ve been through, the battles you’ve fought in silence, the sacrifices you’ve made, and the roads you’ve taken to become the person you are today.

I know you, but not all of you.

I want to know more than your features. I want to know the genuine you — the version that doesn’t hide behind formalities, the one that laughs too loudly, gets excited over little things, has strange habits, and carries stories no one else notices.

I want to know your thoughts, your fears, your favorite memories, and the dreams you keep tucked away when no one is looking.

I want to know you.

Actually, I don’t know you yet.

So —

Hi, stranger.

May I know you?