The Stranger I Like (2.3)

  [Chapter 2] 

Elysium 

- An idyllic and perfect existence

 You know how some people just walk into your life like they tripped over destiny's shoe-laces and crash-landed straight into your heart? Yeah, that’s him. I was living my grayscale, emotionally detached life just fine, minding my own business like a peaceful NPC, thinking love was nothing but a playlist of overhyped songs. And then this guy shows up—blasting my entire emotional bandwidth like someone spilled Holi colors into my black n white world. Now my entire vibe feels like one of those overly saturated Instagram filters—too vivid, too much, but also... kinda perfect.

Ahem! At this point, I’m considering sending him an invoice, charging him property tax. Not even kidding—he’s been occupying prime real estate in my head, rent-free, fully furnished thoughts, premium emotional package included, zero maintenance fees. Man’s got a luxury suite with a balcony view straight into my overthinking brain, complete with mood swings and a playlist called "You Matter More Than You Think."

And the way he makes me feel? It’s giving full main character energy. Like, the moment he texts, my brain shifts from airplane mode to full Bollywood rain dance. Imagine DDLJ background score mixed with a bit of “OMG he replied” chaos.

After so long, I finally got scolded for being late at home. My brother, the next-in-line bathroom claimant, was practically banging on the door like a SWAT raid while I took over an hour inside. Usually, my bathroom concerts are a well-accepted reality at home—my parents have adapted to the daily Airtel jingle experience echoing through the walls. But that day? Nah, I wasn’t just singing—I was dancing too. I’m talking Dil Toh Pagal Hai level twirls in a towel.

Why, you ask?

Well, it was 8 a.m. already and I was about to start my usual bathroom karaoke session, towel in one hand, phone in the other (priorities, right?). Before that I casually scrolled through my messages, and BAM!

His number.

HEINNNNNNNNNN???

Did he… really send it? Or am I dreaming?

Was this a glitch? Did my phone get hacked by some angel of good fortune? I mean, I was happy, OBVIOUSLY. But also confused—like, "Dude , is this a test? Are you pranking me?" See, I was so sure he’d be like, "I'm not comfortable sharing it," and I was already rehearsing my fake chill reply like, "Haha, no worries, I was just kidding… unless?"

But this man? This absolute plot twist personified? He just casually dropped it. No hesitation. No cryptic behavior. Just straight-up handed it over. And my whole existence short-circuited.

So, here’s the tea. I had texted him once, casually, may I have your number? And he sent. 

My brain? Error 404.

My bathroom? Now officially a dance floor. 

My brother? Still banging the door like his entire life depended on it.

While I was out here giving a full Zumba concert, he was actually dealing with fever, stress. Meanwhile, my brain had already cooked up conspiracy theories:

"Did he ghost me?"

"Is he ignoring me?"

"OMG, did I accidentally call mitochondria the 'brain' of the cell instead of the powerhouse?"

From the beginning of this month, I felt this unsettling distance. But when he finally replied and explained everything, why he wasn't active, my unnecessary opera-level overthinking evaporated faster than a samosa at a college fest.

But you know what’s crazy? The way his texts turn my day into a feel-good montage, the way I could literally write a novel on how extraordinary he is but still play it cool like, "Yeah, whatever, he’s alright, I guess."

Meanwhile, my heart! Oh, it's monologuing like a poetic villain in a slow-mo dramatic scene—“Dude, you're the rarest gem in a world full of pebbles. Do you even know how emotionally bankrupt you’ve got me?!”

And if that doesn't say it all… what does?

No matter how many pep talks I give myself— "Control yourself. You're totally fine. Chill, don't simp. You're a composed queen." But the author here is Desperate for real. She waits for his texts like they hold the cure to global warming. She wishes to talk to him, wishes he’d notice the smallest efforts. But nope. Radio silence. And seeing him genuinely busy, She holds herself back, resisting the urge to overthink every unread message like she’s decoding the Da Vinci Code.

The plot twist. He wasn't ghosting me. He actually gets busy. Like, genuinely. That day when he said, "I’m not ready for a relationship right now," it wasn’t an Excuse . It was Real . His profession? Insane. His schedule? More packed than a Virat Kohli stadium match. He's practically married to his work.

Me? Still trying for him like a hopeless romantic with zero chill.

Haven't you heard the saying— "Where there’s a will, there’s a way?" Yeah, well, I’m following that philosophy like it's gospel truth.

The problem? He doesn't have that will... for me. 

I can't do anything about it. I mean, I can only control what's on my part, right? I can't exactly hijack his brain and reprogram his feelings. (Although, if someone has a love potion recipe, we need to talk) 

Guys, the author is getting so DESPERATE these days, she wants to be that person for him who's his late-night comfort. The thought he replays when the playlist hits all the soft songs.

But reality?

Feels like she's just the side character with limited screen time, while he’s out here being the entire damn franchise.

And worst of all? She’s not even the plot twist.

 She waits. She stays. 

Even when her friends roast her like, "He’s not shy. He’s just...not into you."

Even when the brain screams, “Stop embarrassing yourself, PLEASE.”

Even when the playlist is permanently stuck on “Fix You.”

Because some hearts!!! 

They just don't know how to let go. 

Let Go!!! 

But.. Whyyy??? 

Why let go when the guy's clearly single, not eyeing anyone else, and there's actually a shot to make a move? Srimad Bhagvad Geeta literally says, "Karm karo, fal ki asha mat rakho," and that's how I'm , living it so religiously, I might as well start handing out heartfelt prasad at this point. Trying my best, fully committed—like a contestant on a reality show where the only prize is my sanity's fluctuating stock market. 

At this point, I might as well run a gym for feelings, where the dumbbells are my emotions, and the only exercise I do is lifting my own mess with a side of giggles.

Anyways, picture this: The guy who’s been the unspoken hero in my thoughts, the one whose presence lingers like the faintest fragrance of a flower, sends me a morning wish—"Suprabhatam" . No usual good morning, no casual greeting, just a humble “Suprabhatam” with his signature sunflower emoji. It's like the sun skipped its usual routine, but his words somehow illuminated the day anyway. How wonderfully desi, isn't it?

Kyu?

Nahi ho raha imagine?? 

Arey, karo naa Yaar! Koshish to karo!

Because, HE ACTUALLY DID. Or har bar ki tarah hum fisal gaye 🫠 

Self control? Oh, that vanished faster than my hopes during my last NEET attempt. And now, my brain is still figuring out how to process this miracle of simplicity.

So, the other day, my schedule was packed—competitions, meetings, all the usual chaos—but here’s the kicker: the close ones of mine, people I met there, were curious about? Not my performance. but HIM.

Forget the “How are you?”—it was more like, “Woh tera dimple wala kaisa hai?” (As if I hold the secret code that unlock his charm!) I was blushing so hard, I could have been mistaken for a traffic signal.

But here’s the cherry on top: I spent the whole day talking to him—NOT non-stop, but in Doses , like prescribed meds—morning, evening, night. Triple threat. My mood? Elevating faster than the rising cost of happiness.

Honestly, my hypothalamus—the brain’s official "happiness chef"—was in full-on celebratory mode, grooving to beats of joy.

What’s funny is, what I once considered daydreams are now becoming more of a reality. Life feels a bit lighter, a tad brighter, and while he’s not the star of the show, his presence definitely deserves a special mention in the credits of my daily drama. There's something about his vibe that makes everything feel a little more bearable. And maybe a bit more magical.

And, If this keeps up, I might just start charging my friends for all this premium romantic drama content.