Rohan had never given it much thought before—how different people saw him in entirely different ways. To himself, he was just… himself. A 32-year-old architect, a creature of habit, a man who preferred silence over small talk. But lately, he had been wondering: Who am I, really?
It started with a conversation at his best friend Karan’s wedding. Seated at a round table with a mix of old friends and acquaintances, someone casually remarked, “Rohan’s always been the responsible one, the planner.”
Another friend scoffed. “Responsible? The guy who once booked a solo trip to Japan on impulse because he saw a documentary? He’s unpredictable, if anything.”
Rohan chuckled, but the thought lodged itself in his mind. That night, as he lay awake in his hotel room, he wondered: Was he the dependable planner or the spontaneous traveler?
The next day, his mother called, her voice warm as always. “Beta, when will you settle down? You’ve always been the serious, mature one. Not like your cousins, running around without direction.”
Serious. Mature. Not what his college friends would say.
Later that week, his junior at work mentioned, “You’re intimidating sometimes, you know? So focused, so… detached.”
Detached? That wasn’t how his younger sister saw him. To her, he was the goofball who sang terribly off-key in the car and ate ice cream straight from the tub.
A different version of him existed in the minds of everyone who knew him. Each one real, yet incomplete.
One evening, as he sat at his favorite café, lost in thought, his friend Aisha joined him. She had known him for years, seen him through phases no one else had.
“You look like you’re overthinking again,” she said, smirking.
He sighed. “Do you ever think about how different people see you? Like… which version is actually *you*?”
She stirred her coffee, considering his words. “All of them are you. Just different pieces. It’s like a mosaic—each person holds a different tile, but together, they make up the whole picture.”
Rohan let her words settle. Maybe he wasn’t just one thing, one role, one definition. Maybe he was meant to be fluid, changing, a sum of all the versions people saw—while still holding parts no one else had discovered yet.
For the first time in a while, he smiled to himself. He didn’t have to fit into a single version. He just had to be.
A different version of you exists in the minds of everyone who knows you....
It started with a conversation at his best friend Karan’s wedding. Seated at a round table with a mix of old friends and acquaintances, someone casually remarked, “Rohan’s always been the responsible one, the planner.”
Another friend scoffed. “Responsible? The guy who once booked a solo trip to Japan on impulse because he saw a documentary? He’s unpredictable, if anything.”
Rohan chuckled, but the thought lodged itself in his mind. That night, as he lay awake in his hotel room, he wondered: Was he the dependable planner or the spontaneous traveler?
The next day, his mother called, her voice warm as always. “Beta, when will you settle down? You’ve always been the serious, mature one. Not like your cousins, running around without direction.”
Serious. Mature. Not what his college friends would say.
Later that week, his junior at work mentioned, “You’re intimidating sometimes, you know? So focused, so… detached.”
Detached? That wasn’t how his younger sister saw him. To her, he was the goofball who sang terribly off-key in the car and ate ice cream straight from the tub.
A different version of him existed in the minds of everyone who knew him. Each one real, yet incomplete.
One evening, as he sat at his favorite café, lost in thought, his friend Aisha joined him. She had known him for years, seen him through phases no one else had.
“You look like you’re overthinking again,” she said, smirking.
He sighed. “Do you ever think about how different people see you? Like… which version is actually *you*?”
She stirred her coffee, considering his words. “All of them are you. Just different pieces. It’s like a mosaic—each person holds a different tile, but together, they make up the whole picture.”
Rohan let her words settle. Maybe he wasn’t just one thing, one role, one definition. Maybe he was meant to be fluid, changing, a sum of all the versions people saw—while still holding parts no one else had discovered yet.
For the first time in a while, he smiled to himself. He didn’t have to fit into a single version. He just had to be.
A different version of you exists in the minds of everyone who knows you....
