The Stranger I Like (2.8)

[Chapter 2]

Eyeconic

– Because his eyes deserve verses no poet could craft.

They say when you love someone, you start loving everything they love. Sounds poetic, right? Well, in reality, it’s less poetry and more absolute madness. One moment, you’re a sane, logical human being, and the next, you’re out there Googling obscure facts about something you never cared about—just because he does.

Case in point: Harry Potter.

Did I grow up obsessed with it? Nope.

Did I ever watch the movies? Not even a single one.

Did I know the difference between a Dementor and a Democracy? Not really.

But did I spend an unreasonable amount of time and effort trying to get my hands on a Harry Potter toy from Kinder Joy just because he wanted one?

Absolutely.

The obsession ran so deep that the juniors of mine ended up scavenging stores, trying to find one for me as a farewell gift. And me? The girl who once thought Dobby was some kind of WiFi device was now suddenly deep-diving into the House Elf Rights Movement like it was a crucial part of my syllabus.

Why? Because love makes you do insane things.

Like suddenly developing an undying fascination with something you previously didn’t give a damn about. I mean, I literally Googled Harry Potter characters, studied them like I had an exam, just to understand what made that toy so special to him.

But let’s be real—no ancient spell, no wand-waving wizardry, not even Dumbledore’s best-kept secret could match the enchantment of his eyes.

His eyes. Ufffff..... 

If Hogwarts had a course on them, I'd graduate with top honors.

Forget spells; one look into those eyes and my soul levitates. If eyes were currency, his would be priceless. And those lashes? Excuse me, Lord, what kind of unfair distribution of beauty is this? Here I am, barely managing a decent kajal line, and he’s out here with lashes that could make even angels reconsider their existence.

I swear, even if I tried to focus on his lips (strictly for scientific research, of course), those eyes hijack my attention every single time. If someone asks me what peace looks like, I’d say—his gaze, slow-motion blinking and all. And trust me, my imagination is so advanced, I could create an entire cinematic masterpiece of him just blinking.

But wait—there’s danger. The Nazar utarna phase has arrived.

Look, my man is dangerously attractive, okay? I fear someone’s evil eye might corrupt my one-sided fairytale. And since I can’t exactly make him wear a burqa (tragic, I know), my only option is divine intervention.

Hold on! Even in a Burqa the eyes will be visible. Lol! 

Bhagwan ji, please be his kavach.

And speaking of unwanted attention—my DMs? FLOODED.

Girls: "Omg, such a sweet guy! Who is he? Show me!"

Me: "You dare lay eyes on my man? Read the story, appreciate it, but don’t get ideas."

And then, of course, the guys in my inbox:

Guys: "Ugh, stop making up fictional men. No one is this perfect."

Me: "Jealous much?"

Look, I also thought perfection was a myth. Until I saw him. Not only is he a beauty with brains, but even his rejections are adorable. I swear, the way he rejects people—so polite, so kind—it’s like getting hit by a truck, but the truck apologizes first.

Ahem. Don’t laugh.

So what if I got rejected? Failures are the pillars of success. If not today, then tomorrow. Manifestation is a thing, people. One day, he will see my worth.

And yet, there’s this bizarre phenomenon I don’t understand. Why are people not happy with my love story? Just because it’s one-sided? So what! At least he didn’t block me. At least we’re still friends.

We are happy together. (With miles of distance, but still.)

And yet, despite my dedication, my friends are not satisfied.

The other day, I was in class, peacefully minding my business (a rare occurrence), when my friend leaned over and asked, "So, how far has your story gone?"

Me: "It’s nice, it’s going well."

And then she had the audacity to ask, "How’s our jiju?". 

Damn. I blushed hard. But the moment was short-lived.

She continued, "Why haven’t you posted a new update? It’s been so long."

I sighed, "Life’s been busy. Thinking of something interesting to add."

And then, in the most demonic suggestion ever, she said, "Introduce a sautan. It’ll be a blast."

Excuse me, WHAT?

I wished I could blast her head instead. Here I am, surviving the brutal reality of one-sided love, and she wants me to voluntarily add a rival into the mix?

Absolutely not.

I refuse to share my man. I can’t even imagine sharing him. Every breath I take, every wish I make—it all revolves around him. And she thinks I should add a sautan for entertainment purposes?

Listen, if anything is my sautan, it’s time, distance, and his degree (with hectic exams). That is the real villain here.

But I have hope. And faith. And the stubbornness of a Bollywood heroine in a 90s movie.

So dear reader, I leave you with one final request:

Pray for my happy ending.

You will, right?