Isn’t it funny how you can fall in love with a song you don’t even understand?

That’s exactly what happened to me the other day. I was on the train, earbuds in, zoning out as usual. Suddenly, this rap track came on. I’d actually heard it before—Sam had played it one night while hanging out—but this time, it hit differently. I didn’t understand a single word of it—zero, nada. But the rhythm hooked me. The passion in the guy’s voice pulled me in. It was like he was pouring his soul into every line, and somehow, I felt it too.

Today, I finally got around to translating the lyrics. It turns out, I wasn’t wrong. It was raw, emotional, and packed with so much meaning that it felt like someone had opened a window into their heart. It hit me then: music has this strange power to connect you to feelings you didn’t even know you had.

While looking through the translation, this line stood out to me:

"Sach jhooth se pare jaha maut ka na darr."

It means something like, "A place beyond truth and lies, where there's no fear of death."

That one really stuck with me. It’s like the rapper was painting a picture of this ideal, untouchable place—somewhere we all secretly long for when things get too heavy. It’s wild how a song in a language I don’t speak can still hit so close to home.

It got me thinking about how music seems to follow me everywhere. On the train every morning, there’s always a beat in my ears. At home, the first thing I do is put on a playlist. Drinks with friends? There’s always something playing in the background. Music isn’t just sound—it’s a way of feeling without having to put your own emotions into words.

And then there’s her.

She’s been sending me all these Spanish songs lately. They feel like little love notes wrapped in rhythm. At first, I couldn’t make sense of them. I mean, what does “Ponte pe-, ponte pe-, ponte pe-, ponte perra” even mean? (Though let’s be honest, it doesn’t take much imagination.) But it didn’t matter, because I could feel her in those songs—the fire, the intensity, the way they pull you in with every beat, like they’re whispering secrets and promises only she knows how to make. It’s like the music itself is teasing, tempting, daring you to lose control, just like she does when she sends them my way. And as much as I tease her about it, I know she’s laughing on the other end, knowing she’s slowly converting me.

So now, whether it’s an Indian rap track in Sam’s kitchen or a reggaetón beat she sent me at midnight, music feels like this invisible thread connecting me to everything and everyone.

It’s funny, though. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes that she’s my favorite song.