Morning sunlight spilled softly across the city, painting buildings in warm shades of gold while Ahmedabad slowly awakened beneath another ordinary day.

Street vendors arranged fresh flowers outside temples.

Tea stalls filled with conversations.

Auto rickshaws moved endlessly through crowded roads.

People rushed.

People worried.

People chased time.

Life never slowed.

Yet hidden quietly inside one apartment tucked between busy city streets-

peace existed.

The faint fragrance of sandalwood incense drifted gently through the home.

Temple bells echoed softly.

A devotional hymn played quietly from somewhere inside.

Not loud.

Not demanding.

Simply present.

Near the small temple stood a girl.

Motionless.

Eyes closed.

Hands folded carefully before the murti of Shri Krishn.

Golden diya flames danced softly across her features.

Wheatish skin glowing beneath warm morning sunlight.

Shoulder-length dark hair loosely resting around her face.

Hazel-brown eyes hidden beneath lowered lashes.

No makeup.

No elaborate appearance.

Only simplicity.

Only softness.

And on both palms-

rested two lotus-shaped birthmarks.

Beautiful.

Unusual.

Almost unreal.

Her fingers slowly tightened together.

Silent prayer.

Silent comfort.

Silent conversation.

People often prayed because they needed something.

She prayed because devotion lived inside her naturally.

Because somewhere between childhood and growing up-

Shri Krishn had become home.

Not merely faith.

Not merely belief.

Home.

"Krishu!"

Her mother's voice echoed.

"You're getting late!"

Her eyes slowly opened.

Reality returned.

College.

Assignments.

Rehearsals.

Responsibilities.

Stress.

Life.

"I'm coming Maa!"

She carefully placed fresh marigolds before Krishn.

A tiny smile appeared.

Gentle.

Warm.

Unspoken.

Then she quietly whispered-

"Stay with me today too."

As though someone truly listened.

Perhaps someone did.

Mornings and I had a complicated relationship.

Mostly because mornings hated me.

"MAA!"

I rushed toward the dining table.

"Where's my theatre file?"

"Beside your bag."

"My notebook?"

"Chair."

"My ID card?"

"Temple shelf."

I froze.

"What was my ID card doing near Krishn?"

"You kept it there yesterday."

"Oh."

"Because apparently Krishn now manages your college life too."

"Maa."

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

Traitor.

I quickly picked my file.

Third-year theatre studies.

One practical performance.

Two assignments.

Three incomplete projects.

And approximately seven reasons to cry.

Life was wonderful.

"Eat breakfast."

"I'll miss my metro."

"You always say that."

"Because I always almost miss my bus."

"Krishu."

"Maa."

"Sit."

"I'll eat at college."

"You said that yesterday."

"Maa-"

"Sit."

Five minutes later-

I sat eating paratha silently.

Defeated.

My mother smiled victoriously.

I narrowed my eyes.

One day-

I would win.

Not today.

But one day.

"You're stressed again," Maa said quietly.

"I'm not."

"You bite your lip when stressed."

"I don't."

"You do."

I sighed.

Maybe I did.

College had become heavier lately.

Assignments.

Theatre performances.

Expectations.

Competition.

Everyone wanted to prove themselves.

Everyone wanted to shine.

And theatre-

the thing I loved most-

sometimes became the thing that exhausted me most.

Because acting wasn't just acting.

Acting meant feeling.

Becoming.

Breaking yourself apart.

Building someone else.

Living lives that weren't yours.

And somehow-

still carrying your own emotions quietly.

"You slept late again."

"Assignment."

"You skipped dinner."

"I forgot."

"You overthink too much."

"No I don't."

"Krishu."

"Fine."

She reached gently toward my hand.

Her thumb paused.

Over the lotus mark.

For a moment-

something unreadable crossed her eyes.

Something familiar.

Something hidden.

"You should leave now," she said softly.

I stared.

"Maa?"

"Hm?"

"These marks..."

Her fingers tightened slightly.

"Some answers come when time chooses."

Same answer.

Always.

Every single time.

I quietly stood.

Picked my bag.

Walked toward the door.

Then stopped.

Turned.

Returned.

Walked toward Krishn.

Because obviously.

I folded my hands.

Looked quietly toward him.

Peacock feather.

Flute.

Gentle smile.

Why did it always feel-

real?

As though someone stood there.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

I touched my lotus marks unconsciously.

Warm.

Strange.

Familiar.

"Okay."

I whispered quietly.

"I'm leaving."

The city outside moved quickly.

Faster than thoughts.

Faster than feelings.

College gates slowly appeared ahead.

Students filled pathways.

Friends laughed loudly.

Groups gathered.

People rushed.

Life.

Normal.

Ordinary.

My theatre building stood at the far side.

Large black doors.

Posters everywhere.

Upcoming performances.

Auditions.

Events.

Energy.

Chaos.

Home.

"Krishni!"

I turned immediately.

Ridhi.

My best friend.

Dramatic.

Loud.

Chaotic.

The opposite of me.

She ran toward me dramatically.

"Why are you walking like a tragic movie heroine?"

"I walk normally."

"No."

"I do."

"No."

"I literally do."

"You look emotionally unavailable."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're thinking deeply again."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You definitely are."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Fair point.

The theatre room buzzed with noise.

Students moving props.

Scripts scattered everywhere.

Someone arguing about lighting.

Someone forgetting dialogue.

Someone panicking.

Typical theatre department.

Our professor entered.

"Performance workshop today."

Collective groans.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

"Groups of two."

More chaos.

Perfect.

"Krishni."

Professor looked toward me.

"You're leading scene direction."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I-"

"No excuses."

Wonderful.

Amazing.

Fantastic.

I wanted to disappear.

The rehearsal slowly began.

Lines spoken.

Emotions practiced.

Mistakes corrected.

Hours passed.

Yet something felt-

wrong.

Strange.

Unsettling.

A sound.

Soft.

Familiar.

I froze.

Flute.

A flute.

Very faint.

Almost impossible.

I slowly turned.

Nobody.

Nothing.

Only empty corridor.

My heartbeat quickened.

No.

Not again.

Not here.

Not now.

The dreams.

They always started this way.

Flute.

Dark blue skies.

Ancient temple bells.

Flowing river water.

And eyes.

Those impossible eyes.

Watching.

Waiting.

Knowing.

"Krishni?"

Ridhi touched my shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Hm?"

"You disappeared."

"No."

"You did."

"I'm fine."

Liar.

That night-

the dream returned.

Again.

Moonlight spread across flowing water.

Ancient stone pathways.

Temple bells.

Flowers.

Wind.

And music.

The flute.

Closer this time.

Clearer.

Calling.

My feet moved slowly forward.

Someone stood far away.

Impossible to see clearly.

Dark silhouette.

Still.

Silent.

Waiting.

My heart began racing.

Why?

Who-

Suddenly-

those eyes.

Lotus-like.

Ancient.

Gentle.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

My breath stopped.

And then-

I woke up.

3:14 AM.

Dark room.

Fast heartbeat.

Tears unexpectedly resting inside my eyes.

I slowly sat upright.

Confused.

Shaken.

Afraid.

Outside-

the wind moved softly.

Somewhere far away-

very softly-

almost impossibly-

a flute played.

And for reasons she didn't understand-

Krishni felt it.

Something-

was coming.

Something unknown.

Something impossible.

And somehow-

it had already begun.

My outfit

My makeup