The Stranger I Like (2.4)

[Chapter 2] 

 Eclipse 

– A hidden love waiting to glow

I wasn’t exactly flooded with inspiration today. My mind was off somewhere—probably on vacation while my to-do list sat there, giving me the side-eye like a boss ready to assign me the next task. There was a time when I could just sit and let the words flow, effortlessly spilling pages about us, about the story we were building. But today? Blank. Empty. A void. We still talk. Well, "Talk" is probably a Strong word. It's more like exchanging text bubbles with the energy of a phone on 1%—barely hanging in there. No calls, no voice notes—just messages so dry, they belong in a pharmacy labeled "for external use only." It’s the kind of conversation where you ask, “How’s it going?” and the reply takes longer to show up than a hospital bill you thought you’d escaped. Somewhere between emojis and memes, the art of a real conversation seems to have gone into a coma. The most thrilling interaction we've had lately? Sharing a picture of paneer naan. That’s it. That’s the peak of our intellectual exchange.

But then—I actually got some work done. Well, not all of it, but I made progress. My semester’s almost here, and I’ve checked off about 48% of it (yes, I’m absolutely living on the edge). So there I was, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling through IG reels like I was on some kind of autopilot. No thinking, just endless reels of people doing questionable things. I sent him something on impulse—because, why not? We’re basically living in a world where no one can resist sending unsolicited memes or compliments, right? And that reel read as - 

"Apko sharm nahi aati, itna kissable lagte hue."

Without even thinking (like, literally zero thought process), I hit the share button and sent it to him. Don’t even ask me why I did it. One second, I thought I was being smooth, the next, I was sitting in a puddle of regret thinking, "What the hell did I just do?"And then, as if in some delayed reaction, panic set in. Naturally, I did what anyone with a shred of dignity left would do: I unsent it faster than a toddler who realizes they just threw their favorite toy out the window. I was praying to the universe that he didn’t see it. It’s like my brain short-circuit. You don’t just go around sending borderline-cringe compliments to someone who's got the kind of face that makes every Instagram filter look bad. Seriously, his smile could probably make a marble statue blush. It’s like the universe itself said, "Let's make an Ideal Human with perfection " Sure, the guy is perfection—if perfection had a face, his would be a model example—but still, my conscience was like, "Send it. He needs to know how adorable he looks." Who needs self-control when you have memes on hand?

But, let’s be honest. As much as I wanted to send it, I couldn’t. I would just sound like a total creep. So, here I am, writing this instead. A much better option, I guess?

A couple of days ago, I came across his IG story—a black-n-white post—and I was paralyzed by his smile. Seriously. That smile. It was like something straight out of a rom-com. I didn’t even know smiles could have this much power. You know, some people are born to be good-looking, and then there are people like him who just transcend that. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, lost in the glow of his smile. My phone's screen time that day read 2.7 hours—all spent in the gallery, ( Of course I took a screenshot of it) just staring at him. Don’t judge me. It was like he had a gravitational pull, and I was powerless to resist it. It’s the kind of smile that could end wars, solve world hunger, solve climate change, and probably get you an unlimited Netflix subscription without ever needing to enter a password again. Honestly, it should come with a warning label: CAUTION : May cause temporary loss of all ability to think.

 In that capture of laughter, his eyes squinted with delight, narrowing into delicate crescents that sparkled with life. His cheeks, kissed by a gentle glow, held a soft luminosity, as if light itself were drawn to his infectious energy. The contours of his smile traced with precision, following the graceful curve of his expression, a seamless blend of charm and undeniable magnetism. The gentle shadows that formed under the high arches of his cheekbones whispered in perfect harmony, lending an air of mysterious definition. The sculpted symmetry of his face seemed to flow naturally, each feature complementing the other—where strength and softness coexisted, creating an alluring balance that was both mesmerizing and peaceful.

I stared at that picture like a deer caught in headlights, questioning everything I knew about life. Why was I born into a world where perfection like that exists but is forever out of my reach? It’s like walking past a bakery window, watching the most delicious pastry you’ve ever seen inside—but there’s a velvet rope around it, a “Do Not Touch ” sign hanging above it, and you’re left there, salivating but forever unable to have a bite. The universe has a wicked sense of humor, doesn’t it?

He’s like this rare, polished pearl that emits a gentle glow, but when you look close enough, you realize it’s much more. There’s something so genuine, so magnetic about him. It feels like I’ve known him for ages, even though we’ve never met.

Sometimes, I wish I could let the whole world know how much of a gem he is—that I have him in my life. But you know what? Nazar is Real. The universe might put a curse on me if I start bragging too much. I want to keep him to myself. He’s precious. Like something pulled straight out of an oyster. No one else can see him the way I do. 

I had no idea a smile could do this to me. I mean, sure, I love the way my dad smiles or my brother’s grin, but him?His smile is something celestial. The kind that hits you deep in the chest and lights a fire you didn't even know was there. It’s the same spark I felt when he was just a stranger to me. That connection... It’s still there, strong as ever even after being friends. 

The more I obsess, the more he becomes this perfect, untouchable figure—like a star that I can admire from a distance but unable to reach. The more I watch him, the more he seems like this ideal version of perfection that’s always just out of my grasp. It’s like the more I try to figure him out, the further away he feels, and somehow, that makes him even more fascinating.

I’m stuck in this weird space between wanting to talk to him more and knowing that I’d probably make a fool of myself if I did. It’s like I’m holding onto this tiny bit of hope, thinking maybe, something might click—at least in my head. But here’s the thing: I don’t actually need conversations to admire him. His distance makes it feel... special. It’s like this quiet, unspoken connection that exists only in my mind, where everything feels perfect because it’s untouched by reality.

It’s just me, my thoughts, and the lingering hope that one day, maybe, our feelings could sync up. Though, deep down, I know he doesn’t feel the same way. But that’s okay. Sometimes, the dreams we keep to ourselves are the most beautiful ones. And maybe that’s enough for now.

I used to watch my friends, seeing their relationships and thinking, "Oh, so this is what it looks like to have someone treat you with royalty." (Princess Treatment) But now? Nah, scratch that. I don't need it anymore. All I want is him. I want to take care of him—tie his shoes, bring him flowers, cook him his favorite meals, get him a Harry Potter Kinder Joy and even buy him a PS5. (But oh, at first, I need to get my finances sorted, but let’s not get into that right now) Adulting sucks!! 

Ugh, responsibilities, right?

But hey, no rush. I’ve got time. Just a few years to go before I become a financially independent, mildly functional adult.

Let me make this crystal clear though—he’s not some trophy for me to show off. I’ve seen people get what they want, only for their excitement to fizzle out faster than a phone battery on 1%. I don’t want that. I want to worship him. And before you picture me lighting incense and doing a formal puja, hold your horses. I mean worship is in the sense of complete, unfiltered devotion. I want to believe in him—even on days when we’re silent and the world is screaming at me to look the other way. I want to admire him—even when the universe is full of sparkling distractions. Because to me, he’s the one that matters. Worship means handing him my thoughts, my emotions, and my heart, no strings attached. It’s love in its purest, most unashamed form. The kind that doesn’t even need a reason.

And here I am, writing all this, marveling at my own ability to string words together about someone I’ve never even met. That’s the magic of devotion, folks. Love doesn’t have to be tangible to exist. It’s in thoughts, in dreams, in moments that make your heart race. He’s become a part of me—in my soul, in my prayers, and in every hopeful thought about the future.

Every time I look at his picture on my phone, it’s like I’m hugging him without ever laying a finger on him. And when I’m happy? Well, I just stare into his eyes like I’m some kind of emotional voyeur. His dimples? I could write a dissertation about how they light up my day more than the sun itself. And his canines? Oh, those little gems are reserved for my eyes only, a secret admiration that could rival any Shakespearean sonnet.

It’s honestly insane how he entered my life, uninvited, and made everything feel better. He’s like an unintentional miracle—his voice a sweet melody that somehow makes me believe in fate. I don’t know how long I’ll have him in my life, but one thing’s for sure: one day, we’ll meet. And I’ll be so shy, avoiding eye contact like a scared kitten, trying not to blush at that smile I’ve already fallen for a thousand times. 

I once heard someone say, "If you pass by a temple and don’t feel the urge to ask for anything, it means the universe is with you, and you are complete." That’s exactly how I feel about him. It didn’t take years to get to this point. It happened the moment I saw that first picture of his smile. It was like all my wishes were granted in that single moment.

I don’t need anything from him. I don’t need him to feel the same way. I’m perfectly fine with just this—a love that doesn’t ask for anything in return. My heart? It’s all his. I’ll keep worshipping him in silence, believing that, maybe, in some alternate universe, we’ll have the life I dream of.