Chapter Text
“If you truly love something, Aqab, the whole universe will make it so your desires are realized.”
The words wash over Aqab like a river of sweet, honeyed water, the way they do every morning. The voice is warm, and nostalgic. It’s his mother’s voice, and he hasn’t been able to forget it since that night 40 years ago when he got kicked out of his house by his dad.
Aqab does not believe in his mother’s words, and he doubts if she ever believed them herself. After all, her love got her nowhere, married to a man who beat her and disowned her only son. He never had any easy life, but he’s not the type of person to let it bring him down.
When the memories get overwhelming, he always grounds himself with the only thing in life he’s ever been sure of. His mantra.
“Metacognition. Metacognition. Meta—”
And then he wakes up.
He looks groggily at his phone. 6:00 am.
A picture of himself and his dog, Skipper, appears on the lockscreen. The golden retriever seems to smile at him, with his tongue out like he’s mid bark. He’s the only creature that has smiled at him like that for a long time.
The Aqab in the photo is wearing a polo shirt he doesn’t recognize, and once again the real Aqab curses himself for not remembering to tell ChatGPT which shirt to use as reference while generating the photo.
It’s not a bad shirt though, Aqab thinks, as he gets out of bed. It’s a polo shirt. It symbolizes a perfect balance of athletic functionality and smart-casual elegance, likely something GPT must have (rightly) thought suited him.
He makes his way to the bathroom to take a shower and start his day.
After the shower, he brews his own coffee. As it cools, he checks his email and socials.
His inbox is filled with political newsletters, research updates from colleagues, and subscription reminders for his AI services. There’s a legal notice from his lawyer that he marks for later.
Not interested in hearing from that two-timing, unethical excuse of a lawyer this early in the morning, he thinks. He scrolls down to the very bottom of the inbox, looking for something that he already knows isn’t going to be there.
He refreshes the inbox once, just in case.
Still no message from his family.
Not a word from his wife, not a word from his kids.
Not a peep.
I wonder how Ariana is doing, he thinks, as he starts to close his laptop, but something catches his eye.
RECTOROFFICE – WELCOME TO NUST!
He clicks on it.
From: Rector Academics <[email protected]>
Sent: Friday, January 2, 2026, 11:45 AM
Cc: Rector NUST <[email protected]>
Subject: WELCOME TO NUST! STAFF ONBOARDING
Dear Dr Aqab,
It is my great pleasure to formally initiate your joining our prestigious faculty at NUST.
I hope you found it easy to adjust to our high-end faculty apartments, although they might be slightly subpar for someone of your standard.
On behalf of the Rector’s Office as well as all our staff here at NUST, I welcome you on your first day as a professor at our beautiful campus. Your extensive expertise in Ethical Policy Making and your impressive background in Geostrategy make you a perfect fit for our university. We are confident that your work will not only elevate our academic offerings but also deeply inspire our students.
As you transition into this role, we want to ensure you have everything you need to settle in and thrive. Please find attached to this email a copy of our faculty handbook, as well as an onboarding document containing all relevant contacts and schedule details for your respective departments.
Please let me know if you have any immediate questions or if there is anything our team can do to make your arrival seamless. We look forward to seeing the incredible impact you will make here!
Best Regards,
Dr Osama Hassan
Pro-Rector Academics, NUST
Sector H-12, Islamabad, Pakistan.
Tel: +92-51-90851031
Aqab snorts as he looks around his “high-end faculty apartment”. He had a better living space when he was a homeless teenager making money by selling old newspapers. The underside of the London Bridge may have had its shortcomings with the sewer rats and the drunkards and all, but at least it wasn’t so hot.
And they didn’t even have good air conditioning! Bloody hell.
As he closes the email and gets up for his coat, he ponders on the Rector that was cc’d in the email but not named. Could he not have made some time to email Aqab himself?
Why did he have the Pro-Rector Academics, who presumably answers to the Rector, email someone as important as him?
But then again, this is Pakistan.
Recognizing his value isn’t something he really expects from the people here. He knew he’d have to make ado with a lot of compromises when he applied for this role. Granted he hadn’t expected to be hit in the face with it on his very first day, but whatever.
The minute he steps out of the building, he is hit with scorching sunlight.
His English skin was not made to handle this savage heat, he shudders, as he hurries into his jeep. His first class today, the very handy document told him, is at a department called “The School of Natural Sciences,” or SNS for short.
He puts on some jazz as he drives over, having decided that he will speak to whoever is in charge of the department at his earliest convenience—just to assert dominance.
The building soon pulls into view.
Aqab is not impressed.
It’s just a brown block with doors.
Back at King’s College, London, where he had done his degree, this would have been a storage shed.
He sighs and gets out of the jeep and plasters a smile on his face.
He walks by the green canopy accompanying the building. A few students are there, lounging around on green benches and laughing about who-knows-what. Aqab wonders if any of them is in the classes he’s been assigned, but not for long, because he greeted by a very chunky, bearded man in a brown shalwar-qamees the minute he steps into the lobby.
The man says something in Urdu that Aqab doesn’t quite catch except for the words “Visiting faculty”.
“Ah no, I’m actually a full-time Professor. Could you point me to the Principal’s office?” he replies.
The man looks taken aback, surely awed by the raw, unadulterated strength that his British accent carries. He then musters a strange smile that Aqab can’t quite place.
The man points him to the corner room left of the lobby. The nameplate outside it says, “Principal SNS”.
Aqab smiles, and turns to nod at the man, but is surprised to find that the man has already moved past him and is now gossiping about something with the guy at the reception. Can’t be helped, he thinks as he walks to the Principal’s Office.
He knocks on the door once and enters.
Seated at the desk is an elderly, smart man that is presumably the Principal. He has white hair and a white beard that catches the sunlight falling from the window behind him as he looks up, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach the olive wrinkles around his eyes.
Aqab’s breath catches momentarily.
“How can I help you?” he says, in a voice that is low and crisp.
“Hello, you must be the Principal!” says Aqab, smiling hastily.
“And you must be Dr Aqab, I was expecting you. Today’s your first class with us, right?” says the Principal, getting up to shake hands.
His hand feels warm in Aqab’s, the handshake strong and confident. Now this is a man worthy of my friendship, Aqab thinks. “Please, take a seat,” smiles the Principal.
Aqab obliges.
“Let’s see, you’re going to be teaching two courses at SNS this semester, I believe. Expository Writing, and Professional Ethics, isn’t that right?” says the Principal, flipping through some documents in front of him.
“Yes, I guess the Writing course is for Physics first years and Ethics for the second years?” asks Aqab. The Principal frowns. “Hmm, no, actually, you’ll be teaching both these courses to the first years, and then an additional Expository course to the second years,” he replies.
“Our students, you’ll see, are very bright, especially the new first years. You’ll have to really work hard to polish them and have them look up to you.”
“I see,” says Aqab.
They sit there in silence for a moment.
Aqab braces himself for the questioning. He must be aware of Aqab’s extended expertise in writing articles and is probably relieved to have him in his department. That comment has to be an opening into how grateful he is to have someone like Aqab be available to teach his students.
The silence remains unbroken.
Aqab opens his mouth to speak but is cut off before he can start.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around then, Dr Aqab. If there’s anything the matter, you can reach out to me anytime. My door is always open.”
Aqab immediately deflates. “Yes, yes, of course, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says feebly, and takes his cue to exist the office.
What was that all about?
Surely the Principal of a whole department can’t have been living under a rock. Surely he realizes who he just met. The Principal must have been busy; it suddenly dawns on him. First day of the spring semester, there’s probably a lot of work he has to see to.
Yeah, that must be it. He just caught him at the wrong time.
He shrugs it off and opens his schedule again.
The first class is in 15 minutes, with the freshmen. He decides to head to the classroom early. It’s on the second floor.
“303, 303, hmmm…ah! Here it is!”
There’s already a class ongoing there, so Aqab decides to explore the rest of the floor. Immediately he spots another office. This time, the nameplate reads “Mahfooz Hussain – Program Coordinator.”
Program Coordinator, huh? That sounds like someone else that he should get on his speed dial. He peeks over the obstructing film on the door, and sees…
What?
The guy at the desk is talking to someone on telephone.
It’s the rude man from the lobby! Well, maybe not explicitly rude, but surely ignoring a professor to talk to some…some receptionist…has to be unethical. The way he’s dressed, Aqab could have never guessed he was someone as important as the Program Coordinator.
The man looks up and catches Aqab’s eye, peering from above the doorframe. He raises an eyebrow that seems to say, “Seriously?”
Aqab feels the blood rush to his cheeks and hastily moves away from the door.
This day is not going great.
And that’s when he spots a professor exiting the classroom he’s supposed to teach in. She’s tall, thin, with a wiry frame and high cheekbones, wearing near-sighted spectacles and a classy dupatta that doesn’t entirely cover her short, silvery gray hair. She carries a few papers in hand and pays him no attention as she marches past him with purpose in every step.
She’s probably older than me, Aqab thinks.
He works out often and likes to keep himself fit and in shape. But he doesn’t have much time to ponder as students start filing out of the classroom too. They have a ten-minute break between classes, he remembers.
Not that he cares, he’ll just set up his multimedia in the meantime.
He enters the classroom where he’s immediately hit with a lot of noise.
Students laughing, eating, packing, whatnot. They all look like spoiled brats that have never been disciplined in their pathetic, pampered little lives. Especially loud is a spectacled, gangly boy situated towards the end of the class. He wears a beret and is smacking his friend with what looks like a…is that a cane?
Surely that’s not allowed?
Unless. Maybe he has some medical reasons. Aqab makes a mental note to ask about it later. For now, he turns to the clock. Two minutes.
“Alright everyone, LISTEN UP!” he yells.
The noise quietens a bit but he can still hear a lot of mumbling, especially towards the back. Such undisciplined brats.
“I am your TEACHER, have some RESPECT,” he asserts again. This time there is silence.
As it should be.
***
After that class, Aqab has to take a few moments to collect himself.
The Principal was right, he will have to put in a lot of extra effort for this class, because of the sheer difference in mindset and maturity levels between him and the students. It’s likely because he was born and raised in England, a society which rewards critical thinking and logical frameworks.
Unlike these poor, undisciplined, uncivilized, thoroughly indoctrinated students. Some of them don’t even know it’s disrespectful to put their bags on the desks.
This would never fly in the Royal Marines; he is sure of it. But no matter, he has a full semester to train these kids. They will come out polished and sharp, ready for the real world, prepared with skills they could have never gotten otherwise in this country.
He ponders on these thoughts as he descends the spiral staircase that seems to be the signature of this building. His next class is at a different department, for students of IR. That’s more up his alley anyway. But there’s one more person he has to meet before he leaves.
He opens his guidebook and searches the contact list until he finds “Head of Department (HoD) Physics”
Since both his classes here are physics majors, it’s probably worth making a connection with the HoD in case anything comes to pass. He groans internally as he realizes the HoD’s office is not in SNS but in a different building called SMME but then is slightly relieved to find that it’s right across SNS.
By the time Aqab finds the HoD’s office, it’s almost 1 pm, which is break time for the entire campus. Before he can knock at the HoD’s door, however, he is stopped by a short and rather pot-bellied man who poked his head out of the door next to the HoD’s.
The nameplate reads “PA to HoD Physics”.
Great.
“Jee, Sir?” says the man.
“Dr Aqab Malik, I’m here to see the HoD.”
“HoD is busy, Sir.”
“Alright, when will he be available?"
“Mmm, that I cannot say,” smirks the man.
What the. Why is he smirking. Seriously, does no one in this department understand basic respect?
“What do you mean you can’t say? Are you not his assistant?” Aqab asks impatiently.
The smirk vanishes, and the man looks at him with thinly veiled disdain. He’s about to respond when the office door opens and out comes the HoD himself.
He is short compared to Aqab, has soft, broad and round features, and a somewhat kind smile. “Dr Aqab! I was just talking to the Principal about you!” he exclaims.
“The Principal? He’s here?” says Aqab in surprise.
“Oh no no, on the phone. I was just leaving to get lunch; would you care to join me?” the Principal asks amiably.
Aqab lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in.
Of course the Principal wouldn’t be here, why would he come out to meet the HoD in his office when he’s having such a busy day? He couldn’t even be bothered to speak to Aqab at length.
He turns to smile smugly at the PA, but to his surprise the PA seems unbothered. “I’ll take you up on tha—,” he begins, but the HoD seems to be engrossed in his phone.
“What was that?” he said as he looks up.
“Never mind, we can chat later! I wouldn’t want to intrude on your break,” smiles Aqab feebly.
“Alright then, see you around, Dr Aqab,” says the HoD, in the same ever-friendly tone, and walks away. The PA smirks at him again before going back into his office.
Aqab rolls his eyes. How is he going to get anything done in this department?
He leaves the building and decides to get a snack from the café next to SNS. Apparently it’s called a khokha.
To no one’s surprise, the khokha building is tiny, rundown, and the menu options seem not only bad in quality but also limited in variety. He sees students all around horsing down fries, shawarmas, and whatnot, but he can’t bring himself to get something.
He makes his way to the smoking corner and sits down to have a quick smoke.
As he feels the nicotine rush into his lungs, he thinks properly about his situation. It couldn’t get more inconvenient than this. Not only is the class rowdy, but it’s going to take time away from writing his book, too.
And he still hasn’t gotten a proper audience with the Principal. And the HoD, for that matter, but he’s saltier about the Principal. His thoughts rewind to their handshake earlier this morning.
That’s when he hears it.
“Meow.”
A cat! He looks around and spots it. It’s mostly black but has a brown patch around one side of its face, and an odd look in its eyes.
“Here, kitty,” he tries to beckon towards it.
The cat does not move.
“Meow,” it says again, staring intently with the same look in its eyes.
Aqab reaches out to pet it, but it immediately moves back.
“Well you’re a scaredy cat, aren’t you?” he says.
The cat keeps making eye contact. “Meow.”
It says again, this time with more urgency.
“Um,” Aqab gulps nervously. There’s something the matter with this cat. It looks too…aware. The cat puts one paw forward. “Meow,” it says again, louder this time.
“Uh…meow?” Aqab says back, unsure what to do.
Suddenly he feels his body freeze in place, only his eyes able to move. Time seems to slow down and come to a halt, and he sees students frozen mid-conversation from the corner of his eye. What is happening?
The cat, for some reason, seems unaffected.
And oh, her eyes are glowing green now. She stretches her forelegs and sits up straight, then licks a paw. Then she turns to face him again, the glowing green eyes peering directly into his soul. He can almost swear he sees green wisps emanating from them.
“Aqab Mehmood Malik, you have invoked the Oracle of Billi. What do you wish to know, and what are you willing to sacrifice?” she says in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic tone.
How am I supposed to respond if I can’t move? Aqab thinks.
“Do not fret about such trivial matters, Aqab Mehmood Malik. We are not fettered by such restrictions. What do you wish to know, and what are you willing to sacrifice?”
So you can hear my thoughts. Great. What even are you?
“We are the Oracle of Billi. Have you invoked us just to waste our time, Aqab Mehmood Malik?” the cat sounds angry now.
Aqab gulps. He doesn’t want some weird supernatural entity added to the list of people that want to kill him. His crazy cousins are enough.
No, no, of course not…I, uh, just wanted some of your wisdom.
“And are you willing to pay the price?”
Um…yes?
“Very well, Aqab Mehmood Malik. Few have been able to invoke the Oracle in this century, and fewer still have the courage to pay the price. Your bravery has been acknowledged. We will tell you secrets of the past and the future, and you will pay the price.”
Aqab feels his mind seize up as countless memories rush into his head. His eyes roll back as he sees glimpses of things, beautiful things but also dark, twisted things. He can barely make sense of them due to how fast they’re rushing in, until it all comes to a stop at the image of a very familiar face.
It’s the Principal, staring directly into his eyes with the softest expression he’s ever seen.
And then it fades to black, and the khokha comes back into focus.
He can move again, he realizes, and everything is now back to normal. Everyone in the khokha carries on like nothing happened. He turns to the cat, who is now rolling over and chewing on a rock.
The heat is giving me hallucinations, Aqab thinks as he gets up to leave.
“The price will be paid when the time is right,” the cat’s voice echoes all around him right before he leaves the khokha.
He jolts around, but the cat is now nowhere to be seen.
As he leaves the khokha, he passes the cane and beret kid from his class going the opposite direction towards the khokha. He’s looking around as if searching for something.
Their eyes meet for a moment, and Aqab feels shivers run down his spine.
Something is not right about this department.
Not the Principal, not the students, and not even the damn khokha cat.