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Mapped Across Restless Kismet

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Chapter 2 – The Grey-Eyed Stranger

“Bhai, what’s happening?”

That voice. Deep, horse,

Bold. Attractive.

I turned around.

And then I froze.

Like literally froze.

Arms stiff. Brain silent. Breathing? Optional.

No boy had ever made me feel like this before. I wasn’t sure if it was a déjà vu or a moment stolen from another lifetime, but when our eyes met...

I knew I hadn’t seen him before.

Because if I had, I would’ve never forgotten that face.

His eyes—grey.

His hair was jet black, windswept like he walked through a drama scene.

The vendor’s voice shattered my trance.

“Professor, this girl is saying I should give her the rare juice for 200—even though the price is 300.”

Wait—professor!?

The man, still looking half amused, said calmly,

“Sir, I know it’s rare in this area, but can’t you lower it to 200? 300 is a little too much.”

He didn’t sound aggressive. Just… confident.

Like someone who’s used to talking to people.

I studied him again.

Definitely not old. Maybe early to mid-twenties. Sharp jawline.His eyes—grey at first glance, but... were those hints of green? Or was it blue peeking through?

And a face so annoyingly handsome that I wanted to argue with it.

“If you say so… Baji… I’ll give you the juice for 200 rupees.”

Wait—WHAT?

“You weren’t going to lower the price unless this Mr. Kora Billa*showed up?!” I blurted.

*slang word used for people having iris colour other than black or dark brown in Pakistan

He laughed—LAUGHED—and said,

“Hey! I just helped you, and now I’m Kora Billa?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do I call you then? I don’t even know your name. And how did you hack the vendor’s mind like that?”

He opened his mouth to respond, possibly with another flirt-laced defense, but—

“Miraal!”

Ugh. Musa. The official reminder of reality.

I glanced at the time.

Half an hour!?

I told Baba I’d only take a minute!

“I’m SO dead,” I muttered. I grabbed my snacks and juice from the vendor and threw the money like it was a bribe, and spun around—only to find Mr. Kora Billa still watching me.

Why did it feel like… he was dazed?

“Anyway—thanks for your help, stranger. I’ll be off now.”

As I took Musa’s hand, he reported

“You know Amma is going to roast you alive for taking this long on a nausea snack run, right?”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious.”

As we walked past the stranger, I heard it—

A chuckle. Deep and unbothered.

And for some strange reason…

My stomach did a full somersault.

<-----------------------\>

After getting an earful from my mom, I slumped back into my seat, tugged on my neck pillow, slipped on my sleeping mask, and plugged in my headphones—my classic “I need to disappear” kit. My goal was simple: get some peaceful sleep. But no. Mr. Kora Billa just hijacked my peace and flew off with it.

I kept thinking about him the whole ride. Musa must’ve sensed my sudden mood shift—he didn’t bug me like usual. Should I appreciate his intuition… or just thank Allah for this rare silence?

Still, I couldn’t stop replaying what happened. I realized he didn’t even mind me calling him Kora Billa. Most guys would’ve been offended—but he didn’t flinch. Maybe I went a bit overboard? I shouldn’t have done that.

Then again... you don’t see a face like that more than once in a lifetime. Honestly, if he ever appears in front of me again—even in a crowd—I’ll recognize him in one breath. His face? Etched in my brain like a tattoo from fate.

I just... I don’t know. I hope I see him again. Somewhere. Somehow. Maybe in Lahore.

"After finally reaching our old home in Lahore, we spent hours shifting furniture and unpacking everything. Once it was all done, I collapsed onto my bed like I’d never known rest before—as if this mattress was the only place in the world I could breathe again.”

I sigh, reach into my tote and pull out the small black notebook hidden between my migraine medicines and spare socks. The cover says “Headache Log”—and in a way, it is.

But not the kind ami thinks.

I flick through pages of dull entries until I find a clean one. And then, without thinking, I write:

---

9:24 am — Ride to Lahore from Islamabad

I met a guy unexpectedly.And it felt like it was work of Fate. He had grey eyes that looked like they’d swallowed a storm. But when I looked longer,Green? Blue? I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.

I don't know why but I kept looking in his eyes even though I avoided it. Maybe finding something in those deep eyes? Maybe they were attractive that's why?

I called him Kora Billa. He smiled like it didn’t hurt.

What kind of man lets a stranger mock him and still lowers the price of juice just to side with her?

No. What kind of man looks at you like he’s dazed?

At a stranger at that.

I wish I asked his name. But would that have made forgetting easier? Or harder?

Ya Allah… why do I feel like I will meet him again?

.....

“"Miraal! Wake up!"

A banging sound echoed in my head. I ignored it—since I was busy completing my lovely dream again which was disturbed by this party pooper. Whatever party pooper was ruining it clearly didn’t believe in sleep rights.

Suddenly I felt... silence.

Ahh, bliss. Peace.

SPLASH.

“ARGHHHHHHH!! What in the actual *BEEP* was that?!”

“You weren’t waking up, so I had to splash water on you.”

“Have you completely lost your mind, Musa?!” I thought at that moment If he were my younger brother, I swear I’d have given him a fist to his face by now.”

“Lucky me I’m not, then,” he grinned. “I can read your face, you know.”

“Not my problem,” I hissed, wiping water off my face like I’d just come out of a monsoon.

“If you don’t want to be slapped by Ammi next, get up already—you’re super late for your first day at college.”

And with that, he strutted out of the room like he’d done the world’s greatest public service.

Fortunately, I managed to get dressed in fifteen minutes—somehow—and now I’m heading downstairs for breakfast.

If my calculations are correct (and may Allah bless them), it’s just 7:30 a.m., college starts at 8:00, the ride is barely five minutes, and even if I walk, it’ll take ten to fifteen tops. I’ll give myself a comfy fifteen minutes for breakfast.

Which means… no scolding from Ami today? InshaAllah. Manifesting peace. 🕊️✨

As I reach the dining table, I see everyone already gathered for breakfast. Baba spots me and beams, “Come, beta, sit beside me.”

Then, without hesitation, he shoves Musa off the chair next to him.

“Hey! I’m also your son, you know?” Musa protests, clearly used to this kind of betrayal.

“But not as sweet as her,” Baba replies with zero remorse.

Musa doesn’t argue further at this statement—just flops onto the chair beside the one he was dethroned from. Defeated. Tragic. Iconic.

Then, boom, Ami comes with her classic morning jab:

“Do you even realize how late you are? You should learn from Musa—he wakes up at dawn, prays, and even goes for a jog!”

Urgh. Of course.

Musa, the golden boy.

First, because he’s “so disciplined” with his routine.

Second, because he’s a medical student.