I will start this tale by telling a non-story. I found myself thinking about this non-story after a conversation which I did not have with a person who was not my friend. When I first did not meet this person, I was in front of my computer staring at his face. His white smile full of teeth was an indecipherable blank canvas and the thought of getting to know him and creating an intimate connection came into my mind. I suddenly wanted to give him a name, but the more I looked at his face, the more I came to think of how we live in an era where anonymity is part of our identity and part of our intimate relations. I decided then to not name this non friend and to rely on this non-intimacy as part of our relation. The more I did not name him, the more I imagined all the things we did not do together: we did not go to the new movie of… we did not dance to the song of… we did not go on that hike to the …. park. I continued looking at his pictures while I was working on my computer and in all of them, blending in with his blank smile, there was my non-presence. Were we intimate? Yes, we were so intimate in our anonymity. The more I looked at his pictures, the closer I grew to his friends, those who knew the secret of his name. But his name would not tell me much about him, would it? Would I ever really know him? No. I would know only versions of his name – versions in languages which I spoke. Was it worth then to know a version of his name while letting all the other possible versions vanish from my imagination? Was it worth? Was it worth to transform that non-story into a story? I looked once again to his smile and, in a rushed impulse, I accepted his invitation. It was time for a story to emerge.