The city of Ahmedabad never truly slept.

Even at midnight, distant traffic still hummed beneath the warm summer air, temple bells occasionally echoed from somewhere far away, and faint golden lights flickered outside apartment windows like restless stars trapped upon earth.

Inside one small room on the third floor of an old apartment building, a girl sat awake long after everyone else had fallen asleep.

The only light came from a laptop screen.

Blue.

Soft.

Flickering against tearful brown eyes.

On the screen, Shri Krishna smiled gently beneath the kadamba trees of Vrindavan, peacock feather resting effortlessly in his dark curls while the sound of an old devotional melody filled the room.

Krishni mathur watched silently.

Again.

For what was probably the hundredth time.

Her textbooks lay abandoned beside her.

Half-open notebooks, highlighted assignments, tangled earphones, and ghungroos scattered across the floor made the room look more lived-in than organized.

A perfectly ordinary college girl's room.

And yet-

hidden carefully between chemistry notes and dance schedules were tiny things no one knew about.

Pressed peacock feathers.

Folded temple flowers.

Little handwritten letters addressed to someone who would never physically read them.

Or at least...

that was what krishni believed.

She sat cross-legged before the screen, chin resting upon her knees as the familiar ache returned to her chest.

That strange ache.

The kind that had no explanation.

Not admiration.

Not obsession.

Something deeper.

Something frighteningly sincere.

She had loved Shri Krishna for as long as she could remember.

At first, it had begun innocently.

Bedtime stories from her grandmother.

Tiny hands folded before temple idols.

Childish excitement whenever Krishna cartoons appeared on television.

Then came the serials.

The bhajans.

The verses.

The dances.

The countless nights spent whispering prayers into silence as if someone somewhere was truly listening.

And slowly-

without even realizing when it happened-

devotion became love.

A dangerous kind of love.

The kind she never dared speak aloud.

Because how could someone love God like this?

Not as a devotee alone.

Not as worship alone.

But as if her soul itself belonged to him.

Krishni lowered her gaze quickly, embarrassed by her own thoughts even in an empty room.

"Stupid..." she muttered softly to herself.

A small tear slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away immediately.

"You're actually stupid."

Her eyes drifted once more toward Krishna's smiling face upon the screen.

Beautiful.

Calm.

Eternal.

And infinitely beyond her reach.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Why would you ever look at someone like me?"

The question came out quieter than intended.

"I'm not Radha..."

Her voice trembled.

"I'm not Rukmini... not anyone special... I'm not even a good devotee."

She hugged her knees tighter.

"I get angry... distracted... jealous... emotional over every little thing... I can't even focus properly during prayer half the time."

The room remained silent.

Only the bhajan continued softly in the background.

Krishni looked downward, eyelashes wet.

"And still..." she whispered painfully, "I want you."

The confession made her chest tighten instantly.

Not out of shame.

Out of helplessness.

Because no matter how much she scolded herself...

the feeling never disappeared.

She had tried.

Tried convincing herself this was childish.

Impossible.

Immature.

But every time she imagined her future beside someone else-

her heart resisted.

As if somewhere deep within, it had already chosen.

Chosen someone no mortal girl could ever truly have.

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

Then another.

Until finally she laughed weakly through them.

"Look at me," she whispered. "Crying over someone who lived thousands of years ago."

Outside, the warm night wind suddenly stirred.

The curtains fluttered softly.

The temple bells in the distance rang once.

Twice.

Then silence returned.

Krishni slowly closed the laptop.

Darkness settled across the room.

For a moment she simply sat there quietly, eyes adjusting to the shadows.

Then softly-

almost like a secret meant only for herself-

she whispered into the darkness:

"If you are truly real..."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.

"...then in at least one lifetime..."

Her voice cracked.

"...come for me too."

And somewhere far beyond the reach of modern cities, beyond time itself, beyond the boundaries between Yugas-

a flute melody quietly stopped mid-note.

Thank u

Hope u loved prologue

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Gaura 🧿