We found ourselves stranded in the middle of nowhere, far from our homes, as the relentless rain began to pour. Despite our attempts to walk faster, the downpour left us both drenched. We briefly considered seeking shelter under a nearby tree, but the raging storm made it seem like a poor choice. Instead, we continued trudging through the rain, our clothes sticking uncomfortably to our bodies, until we reached the outskirts of the residential area. Krish's house appeared on the horizon, and we sighed in relief.

By the time we arrived at Krish's home, we were thoroughly soaked. With Krish's mom absent, we had the house to ourselves. Krish handed me a towel, and I gratefully accepted it. He offered me a spare T-shirt and a pair of track pants to change into, which I did before joining him in the living room. As I dried my hair, Krish prepared steaming cups of chai.

We sat at the dining table, sipping hot tea and gazing out at the rain. The only thing missing was some soothing music to complete the moment. It was as if Krish had read my mind when he asked, "Do you like music?"

I chuckled. "Who doesn't like music?"

Krish grinned. "True. Let me rephrase that: What kind of music do you listen to?"

I considered it for a moment. "Honestly, I haven't been exposed to much Indian music, but I've heard a few songs. My taste leans more toward indie pop artists and country music."

Krish looked intrigued. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you know about Ilaiyaraaja?"

I nodded. "Isn't he one of the biggest music directors in the Tamil industry?"

"That's correct," Krish replied. "His music is simply perfect for every little situation in life. Believe me, whenever I'm happy or sad, I turn to his music. Would you like to listen?"

"Sure," I agreed. Krish connected his phone to a smart speaker and played his Ilaiyaraaja playlist on Spotify. While I didn't recognize the songs, some of the tunes felt vaguely familiar, probably from when my mother used to listen to them. My mom had always been passionate about music, and even though she couldn't share it with us, she never stopped listening. Surprisingly, I found myself drawn to the rhythms and melodies of the songs. They were soothing, even though I couldn't understand the lyrics.

Krish asked, "Do you like it?"

I replied, "Chai or music?"

"Both," Krish grinned.

I chuckled. "Should I tell the truth or lie?"

"Why don't you lie?" Krish suggested playfully.

I decided to tease him. "I hate them. They're so horrible."

Krish laughed. "I knew it."

As we enjoyed our tea and the melodious tunes of Ilaiyaraaja's music filled the room, I felt a sense of comfort that was hard to put into words. The rain pattering against the windows added to the cozy ambiance. Krish and I shared anecdotes about our favorite songs, our musical journeys, and the memories associated with the melodies.

After a particularly soulful track played, Krish turned to me with a smile. "You know, music has this incredible power to connect people. It transcends language and culture. It's like a universal language of emotions."

I nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. It's amazing how a song can touch your heart even if you don't understand the lyrics. You can feel the emotions through the music."

Krish's gaze softened as he looked at me. "You're right. It's one of the things I love about music. There are no boundaries in music."

I smiled, appreciating the sentiment. "It's beautiful how music can bring people together, no matter where they come from."

For a while, we let the music fill the room, lost in our thoughts. The rain outside began to taper off, and the sound of droplets on the roof became more rhythmic. It was a moment of serenity, a pause in the chaos of life.

Then I broke the silence. "Krish," I began tentatively, "I have to admit, you surprised me back there. You seemed so different from the Krish I've known."

He glanced at me, his expression slightly softer than before. "Different how?"

"Well, you were actually nice," I said, half-jokingly. "I mean, you smiled, and we talked like normal people. It's just... Why have you been so moody and distant all this time?"

Krish sighed, his gaze fixed on the ground as we walked. "I guess I have my reasons," he replied cryptically.

I wasn't satisfied with that answer. I wanted to understand him better. "Is it because of something I did?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern.

Krish stopped walking and turned to face me, his eyes meeting mine. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that I hadn't seen before. "No, it's not because of you," he admitted. "It's... complicated. Let's just say I have my own demons to battle."

I could feel the weight of Krish's emotions in his words, and my heart ached for him. I reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know," I began gently, "you don't have to go through this alone. If you ever want to talk about it, remember I'm here for you."

He nodded, his face softening with gratitude. "Thanks," he said, his voice sincere.

I couldn't help but feel guilty about our previous argument. "I want to apologize again for that day," I said sincerely. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I was just really angry, and I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

Krish offered a forgiving smile. "It's okay," he replied, his tone understanding.

I pressed on, wanting to ensure he didn't hide his feelings. "Don't pretend you weren't hurt," I insisted. "I saw it in your eyes. Did I hurt you that badly?"

He admitted it with a silent nod, confirming my earlier suspicion.

Curiosity about his past still gnawed at me, and I couldn't contain it any longer. "Krish," I began cautiously, "what happened, really? Why have you been carrying this burden alone?"

He sighed deeply, considering whether to open up. Eventually, he began to share his story.

"It all started back in college," Krish began, his gaze distant as if transported to another time. "I was deeply in love with a girl named Harini. We were close right from our first year, and by the time we reached our third year, I mustered the courage to propose to her. She accepted, and for the next two years, we were truly in love. We studied together, prepared for placements together, and eventually ended up working for the same company. We were really happy. At least, I was. I thought she was my end game, my one true love who would stay by me for the rest of my life."

Krish paused briefly, his expression clouding over as the memory continued to unfold. "But everything changed when we moved to Bangalore for work. We had to adapt to a new way of life, and it seemed like Nikitha adapted faster than I did. She made new friends from the city, started getting attention from other guys, and began to enjoy it."

He looked at me, and I could see the pain in his eyes. "I tried to be understanding. I didn't want to make her feel insecure or pressured in any way. I gave her space and tried not to be jealous, but she kept growing more distant."

Krish's voice trembled slightly as he continued, "One day, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I asked her if she still loved me. She accused me of being immature and stuck in a 'village mindset.' She claimed I was too conservative and traditional, unable to keep pace with the city. She even brought my family's background into it, making me feel ashamed of coming from a farmer's family."

Krish's face turned red with anger, reliving that moment. "We had a massive fight that day, and it was like a wake-up call for me. I realized I didn't want to change who I was to fit into this fast-paced, judgmental city life. I didn't want to alter my identity for someone else's sake. She was challenging my very sense of self."

"I quit my job and returned to the village," he continued. "Since then, my family, especially my dad, has been furious with me, and we haven't been on good terms. I never really talked about this with anyone. But today, I felt like I could trust you with my story."

Listening to Krish's painful narrative, I felt a deep empathy for him. His struggle with identity and the consequences of his decisions resonated with me. I decided to share my own story of grappling with identity as an Indian American.

"Krish," I began, choosing my words carefully, "I understand how you must have felt. You were facing an identity crisis, trying to balance the values you held dear with the expectations of a rapidly changing world."

Krish nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground, his guard seemingly lowered. "Exactly," he murmured.

"I've had my share of identity struggles too," I admitted, hoping my story could offer him some solace. "You see, being an Indian American isn't always easy. It's like living in two worlds but belonging to neither. In America, I'll always be seen as the foreigner with a different culture and background, while in India, I'll always be the one who left. It's a constant struggle."

Krish looked up, his curiosity piqued. "So, how did you deal with it?"

A small smile played on my lips. "I realized that I didn't have to choose one side over the other," I explained. "I am both Indian and American, and I've learned to embrace both sides of my identity. It's liberating, Krish. You don't have to conform to someone else's expectations or change who you are. You can be proud of your roots while also adapting to the changing world around you."

Krish's eyes held a mixture of understanding and gratitude. "I haven't really thought about it this way, Veena."

"Like I told you, you are not alone.", I smiled at him warmly.

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"We're all humans. We're supposed to make mistakes. But, it's our responsibility to learn from it, and not give up."

"How are you so wise at this age?", he asked, jumping back into a good mood.

"Yeah, well", I said, pulling up the collar of the t-shirt on one side.

"Thank you for this and for listening," he said sincerely. "It means a lot."

As we continued our conversation, I couldn't help but feel that we had connected on a deeper level. Krish was no longer the distant and moody guy I had initially thought him to be, and I was determined to be there for him as he navigated his own path of self-discovery.

As the rain finally subsided and the sky began to clear, Krish's mom returned home. She was surprised to see me but greeted me warmly. Krish and I exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the bond we had formed on this rainy day.

Little did I know that this unexpected downpour would lead to a deeper connection with Krish, unravelling the layers of his past and his complexities. It was the beginning of a friendship that would change both of our lives in ways we couldn't yet imagine.

Do you think identity crisis is real? Share your story...

Special Shoutout to resokashyap for engaging in my story.

Do check out her story - That Place if you are a fan of mystery.