The sky was murky and pale. The grey clouds clashed with each other angrily and thunder drum-rolled, creating a loud roar throughout Colombo, making the whole thing look as if there was a battle going on high up there. With each raindrop, drizzle and pitter-patter, it was evident that the seasonal Monsoon was in a certain ferocious mood.

Nature's warning signals, air of gloom around, and frenzy among the people running for covers made me quicken my steps. The last thing I wanted was to get wet in the rain on a working day.

But uh-oh! Unfortunately either I was too slow or the skies were too fast — I got caught in the downpour while I was in the middle of the road. Thanks to my absent-mindedness, I had no umbrella to protect me too.

I was drenched from head to toe and shivering like a leaf. Great. The morning had already started cold, dark and dull, perfectly matching my frame of mind for the day.

I felt completely frustrated with the weather, with myself and at the thought of a future with him. I wanted everything to change. I wished for it. I longed for it. But I knew nothing was going to happen.

Mental agony aside, the physical pain caused by my rheumatoid arthritis was getting worse. With each step I took, my joints felt stiff and the aches increased. So, I stopped moving.

I looked around and realized that walking up to office in my current condition was going to be tough. Besides, the road flooding had already begun and trudging off the waterlogged streets felt like a nightmare. Trying to find a Uber or even a roadside three-wheeler during this incessant rain was almost impossible.

So, I took shelter under a roof nearby, waiting impatiently for the rain to cease. But sadly, it only intensified with each passing minute.

I closed my eyes and tried to block all my negative thoughts. By shutting off one of my senses, more focus was shifted to another, I guess. Because it was at that moment that I sensed the divine aroma of coffee brewing from a coffee shop at hand.

That's it! I knew what I had to do to rid myself of my bad mood. I had to go there and get myself a good cup of coffee. I needed a latte so badly!

I pushed myself to walk up to the coffee shop. I entered the heavenly spot, forgetting all my worries for a moment.

It was a cute retro-style themed place with neatly arranged wooden chairs and tables, colorful wall art and a decent collection of books for bookworms. The soft music in the background gave it cozy vibes.

Though it was a little spot, it was almost fully packed — thanks to the elite class of Colombo. Everyone looked so prim and proper, and I felt a bit awkward standing there because it seemed like I was a misfit in their perfect world.

Where I came from, walking into a coffee shop every morning and buying coffee at exorbitant rates was not a norm. It was something that happened rarely when I met up with friends or colleagues. Spending more than five hundred rupees lavishly for a small cup of beverage was frowned upon in a middle-class household, especially by my mother.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I got a thrill out of splurging money on a few things that I liked. And especially at that moment, I really craved for a very creamy latte with lots of steamed milk and sugar. So, I went straight to the counter without any regrets.

"Hi. Can I have a latte, please?"

Placing the order itself made my heart race faster and my mouth water. Perhaps the fact that I was on a strict sugar-free diet, followed intermittent fasting and that I skipped my dinner the night before, made me act this way.

However, my excitement was not supposed to last long, I guess, because the barista gave me an apologetic face and replied,

"Sorry ma'am, there is something wrong with the latte machine. We are trying to fix it. Is it possible for you to wait for sometime?"

I groaned in frustration. This had to be a joke. The one day that I wanted latte, the machine had to break. It felt like fate really did not want me to stay happy even for a second.

"How long would it take?" I asked, letting out a sigh.

"A few minutes, maybe fifteen or even less. Please take a seat, ma'am. I will inform you once it's ready."

Fifteen minutes was definitely too long. Ideally, I should have walked out. But I decided to stay back because the rainfall was steady as ever and so was my craving.

I picked 'The Fault In Our Stars' from the bookrack and sat on a chair near the window. The aroma of coffee, slow music and the sprinkling of rain droplets on the grass outside proved that the ambience was admirable. On a normal day under normal circumstances, it would have been a very pleasant experience for me. But what with the issue in my head, it did not feel even a bit special during that moment.

"Fault indeed. Being overweight is perhaps my affliction," I muttered under my breath as I opened the book. I wanted to read but I could not. My eyes moistened.

The thought of getting engaged to Ibrahim made me feel sick to my stomach. Not because he was bald but because of how condescending he and his family sounded the last time I met them.

They called me 'fat' and said that I had to lose weight before the wedding. They instructed me to starve myself so that I could transform into someone they liked.

Of course, it was not my first time hearing fat shaming comments or unsolicited diet advice. The society always took the liberty to speak disdainfully of my body without my consent. But the fact that a man who I might spend the rest of my life with said the same things was very hurtful.

I tried speaking to my family about dropping Ibrahim's proposal but they never wanted to hear out my side of the story. They thought I was being over-picky and that I was too old to have a choice. They simply wanted me to shut up and meet the societal expectations of a woman.

Wiping my tears, I raised my head and looked around for the barista I spoke to, hoping for a sign about my latte. But there seemed to be nothing.

I got up, put the book where I got it from, and walked towards the artsy walls.

"Beautiful art, yeah?"

I heard a fruity voice say. I turned around to find a guy in a grey t-shirt, holding a cup. It looked like he was talking to me because there was no one else around.

I stood dumbfounded for a moment. Who was this guy? Why was he trying to strike up a conversation with a rain-soaked chubby girl in a coffee shop full of fancy people? Above all, why was I staring at him in amazement?

He was a good-looking man but that was not the whole point. It was something else.

Yes, it was his eyes. There was something so fascinating about his eyes!

And by that, I did not mean that he had the cliche 'hazel eyes' or 'rich, chocolaty brown eyes'. It was just a pair of dark eyes that you could find in any Sri Lankan but they were full of life and appeared animated as he spoke.

I only nodded because he was just a stranger and that is what he deserved. Besides, I was too drained to talk.

"So, do you speak Sinhalese?" he asked with gleaming eyes.

What a strange question! Did he think that I did not know Sinhalese just because I was head-covered? Typical Lankan attitude! Most people had that notion that Muslims could speak only Tamil, which was true in some cases, but definitely not in mine. I was well-versed in both the local languages.

"Everyone does, right?" I replied nonchalantly.

"Not me," he said.

He had a mischievous smile on his face, which for a weird reason, I did not find annoying at all. It was rather cute.

Anyway, I decided to ignore him this time. But it looked like he failed to notice it because he again spoke.

"Standing in a coffee shop without sipping on anything. A little unusual, eh?"

"Of course and you know why? Because their damn latte machine is not working. My day was bad and it only got worse. I really wanted a latte because I haven't tasted anything sweet in a long time, you know," I said with a sigh.

I had no idea what I was doing. He was a complete stranger and there I was ranting to him about a cup of latte, which was so unlike me.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Yeah. Can you believe it? A coffee shop with a faulty latte machine?"

"No, I mean, are you serious about latte flashing through your mind as the first thing in this weather, that too to suffice a long-term craving?" he asked with a smirk.

"Why? What's wrong with latte?" I asked with an eye-roll.

"There's nothing wrong about it. It's just that chai goes better together with rain than latte. I mean, what better way to embrace the coldness of this lovely monsoon than with a sizzling cup of chai in your hand, right?"

"Chai? Really? Who even calls it that here? Stop sounding so pretentious and just say 'tea' like all Lankans do," I said, in a mocking tone.

"Actually, I'm an Indian and that's why I'm so used to calling it chai or chaya. Sorry," he replied.

"Oh, my bad then. Which part of India?" I couldn't believe that I was going on having a conversation with a stranger.

"Kerala" he uttered with a certain sense of pride.

That explained why I mistook him for a fellow citizen. Keralites in Malayalam movies and even online generally reminded me of local faces. So, did Kerala. It had a strong resemblance to Sri Lanka.

"Cool" I replied, hoping for the conversation to end right there.

"You seem to be pretty upset and let me just tell you this, chai helps uplift your mood," said the stranger.

"Oh man! Do you sell chai for a living in Kerala?" I asked with a chuckle.

"No, I sell something much better."

"Something illegal?"

"Not illegal but certainly addictive," he said with a playful grin.

He was quite a charmer with his words.

I started laughing and so did he. Somehow, I didn't like what I was feeling. The whole thing gave me strange vibes or was it the sparks — I wasn't sure!

All I knew was that I never felt anything like this around Ibrahim. Oh! Just like that my mood changed and the grim expression was back. A mere thought about him was exasperating!

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"How would you feel if you had to drink only black coffee without sugar for the rest of your life?" I asked.

"Terrible. Bored. It would simply be a life without happiness. I don't even want to imagine that," he said, shooting me a strange look.

His words resonated well with my fears. I sighed.

"What if your future spouse expects you to stay away from all kinds of food that you like just so that you could fit their description of beauty?" I asked, feeling slightly ashamed for discussing my problems with a stranger who I met just five minutes back.

"Simple. Whoever this person may be, she is neither going to be my spouse nor be part of my future in any way," he replied.

"Why?"

"Because I love food and I would not give it up for anyone or anything, except maybe for health reasons. Also, I'd rather spend some time in a prison cell than get married to a person who would control me like that," he said with a thoughtful look on his face.

His response was funny, yet had so much of clarity. He was right. Living with a man like Ibrahim will never make me happy. Sooner or later, I would feel caged.

Forcing a smile, I said, "Okay."

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Well, there's a lot that I could tell you. But what use? You will never understand any of my issues. In fact, nobody here will."

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Because you all won't be able to relate to it. Your lives are too perfect unlike mine, which is a total mess," I said.

"You are wrong. Nobody has it perfect. And if I may ask, how did you even arrive at that conclusion?" he asked.

I just shrugged my shoulders. I truly didn't know why I was having such a serious conversation with a random stranger.

"What you need to understand is the concept of sonder," he said.

"What is that?"

"Sonder is the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own," he replied.

"I'm sorry but how does that relate?"

"See, the thing is, just like you, everyone here has a story, including me. A story full of our own fears, struggles, dreams, goals, failures, and unique moments. We are all happy and sad, bold and afraid, confused and clear, perfect and imperfect — all at the same time. I don't exactly know what you are going through but what I'm trying to say is that you are not alone. Just try to have a conversation with someone who you think might understand you. Maybe it will help you figure things out."

"Thanks. I'm impressed by your wisdom," I said with a smile.

There was truly something about his words. I didn't know whether I found the solution to my dilemma but I certainly felt better, hearing them.

"Well, that's the kind of wisdom you get when you have a good cup of chai," he said with a wink.

"I have to go now by the way. Nice meeting you. If you ever happen to visit Kerala, come see me here," he said, handing over a business card to me, which had a picture of biryani in it. I smiled the moment I saw it.

Samar. That was his name and the addictive thing he sold in Kerala was biryani. Charming!

"See you, Samar. I'm Alisha," I replied.

He walked out and I stared out of the window. The rain had not stopped. But this time, I was not annoyed by it.

I went back to the barista with a silly smile plastered on my face and said,

"Forget the latte. Can I have a chai, please?"

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