The Name Left in the Dark الاسم الذي بقي في الظلام
by Naiweilanlan
陈奕，你还听得见我的声音吗？
Cheng Yi, hearest thou my voice, still?
有些时候，人会在自己心里藏下另一个人。
Sometimes, when the world becomes too heavy, we make a second self within our hearts.
她从黑暗里来，带着与自己相同的眉眼，却拥有截然不同的灵魂。她温柔、安静，仿佛从未见过世间的恶意；她替另一个自己走向光明，也替另一个自己留下阴影。
She comes quietly from the dark, bearing the same eyes and the same face, yet carrying a soul entirely her own. She is gentler, quieter, untouched by the cruelties of the world. She walks toward the light for the other, and remains behind to carry what the other cannot bear.
她叫陈忻。
Her name is Cheng Xin.
没有人知道她究竟何时出现。
No one knows when she truly began to exist.
陈忻一直以为，自己与陈奕是两个不同的人。
Chen Xin always believed that she and Chen Yi were two separate souls.
她们有各自的记忆，各自的恐惧，也有各自不愿让对方看见的秘密。
They had their own memories, their own fears, and their own secrets—things neither wished the other to see.
有时候，陈奕犯下的错，会落到陈忻身上；有时候，陈忻做过的事，又会在第二天变成陈奕无法解释的梦。
Sometimes, what Chen Yi had done would fall upon Chen Xin. Sometimes, something Chen Xin remembered doing would return the next morning as a dream Chen Yi could never explain.
她们彼此憎恨，又彼此依赖。
They hated one another, yet neither could live without the other.
像两个人站在同一面镜子的两侧，隔着一层薄薄的光，看着对方活成自己不敢成为的模样。
Like two figures standing on opposite sides of the same mirror, watching through a thin veil of light as the other became everything they themselves were afraid to be.
后来，她们走向了不同的路。
In time, they walked toward different roads.
陈忻相信这个世界仍有值得相信的东西，于是她一次又一次伸出手，哪怕那只手最终只会触碰到冰冷的空气。
Chen Xin still believed there were things in this world worth believing in. So she kept reaching out, again and again, even when her hand could only close around the coldness of empty air.
陈奕却渐渐沉入更深的地方。
Chen Yi, meanwhile, sank deeper into the places where light could no longer reach.
她开始明白，有些门不是为了让人走出去而存在的。
She began to understand that some doors were never meant to lead anyone outside.
可她们谁也没有发现，那两条看似遥远的路，其实从未真正分开。
Yet neither of them ever realized that the two roads had never truly parted.
她们只是用不同的名字，走在同一个人的梦里。
They were simply walking beneath different names through the same dream.
直到有一天，所有的声音都停了下来。
Until one day, every voice fell silent.
镜子里只剩下一个人。
There was only one figure left in the mirror.
没有第二道影子，没有第二双脚步，也没有那个曾在夜里轻声说话的女孩。
No second shadow. No second pair of footsteps. No girl whispering softly in the night.
陈忻从未真正来到过这个世界。
Chen Xin had never truly entered this world.
她只是陈奕在无法独自活下去的时候，为自己留下的一盏灯。
She was only a small light Chen Yi had left for herself when living alone had become impossible.
一盏后来亮得太久，久到连点燃它的人，都开始相信那是真实的月光。
A light that burned for so long that, in the end, even the one who had lit it began to believe it was moonlight.
可陈奕没有让她消失。
But Chen Yi did not let her disappear.
她仍旧记得那个名字。
She kept the name.
她在空无一人的房间里轻声呼唤，在没有回应的清晨留下两份早餐，在漫长得看不见尽头的夜里，为一个从未出生的人保留一席之地。
In an empty room, she whispered it softly. At mornings when no one answered, she still set two breakfasts upon the table. And through nights that seemed to have no end, she kept a place for someone who had never been born.
她知道那里从来没有人。
She knew there had never been anyone there.
可她还是把那张椅子留在那里。
Still, she left the chair untouched.
仿佛只要不将它移走，某个遥远的夜晚，那个女孩便仍会推门而入，带着一身月光，笑着问她——
As though, if it remained where it was, then somewhere in a distant night, the girl might yet open the door, carrying the pale light of the moon upon her shoulders, and smile before asking—
“你还好吗？”
“Are you all right?”
夜终于深得听不见风声。
At last, the night grew too deep for even the wind to be heard.
陈奕闭上眼睛。
Chen Yi closed her eyes.
她知道陈忻从未存在。
She knew Chen Xin had never existed.
可在那一刻，她忽然又听见了脚步声。
Yet, in that very moment, she heard footsteps again.
很轻。
Faint.
很远。
Distant.
像有人穿过漫长的黑暗，从一个无人知晓的地方走来。
As though someone were crossing the endless dark, coming from a place no one had ever known.
她没有睁眼。
She did not open her eyes.
只是笑了笑。
She only smiled.
然后，把身旁最后一个空着的位置，留给了她。
And left the last empty place beside her— for her.
