The sun had just begun to sink behind the hills of Mathura, painting the river Yamuna in gold and violet. You came there every evening — to think, to sketch, to escape the endless palace talk about suitors and politics.

But that day felt… different. The air was sweeter. The breeze hummed softly, almost like it carried a tune.

And then you saw him.

A man — no, not quite human. Skin like twilight, eyes that shimmered with galaxies, and a smile that looked like it had broken a thousand hearts but healed twice as many.

He sat beneath a tree, lazily playing a flute. The melody wrapped around the world — soft, teasing, impossible to ignore.

You hesitated, stepping closer.

“You shouldn’t play here,” you said, trying to sound bold. “This is royal ground.”

He opened one eye.

“Then why are you here, my lady of rules?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You say I shouldn’t play here,” he said, standing with infuriating calm, “yet your heart has been dancing to the music since the first note.”

You flushed. “I— that’s— you’re arrogant!”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Or maybe just observant.”

You crossed your arms. “Who even are you?”

“A wanderer. A herdsman. A liar, if you ask my enemies,” he said, lips twitching. “But for you… let’s say I’m a friend passing through.”

“And your name, ‘friend passing through’?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Krishna.”

You frowned, pretending to think. “Never heard of you.”

“Good,” he said. “Makes it easier for you to fall for me without bias.”

You gawked. “Excuse me—what—who talks like that!?”

“People who mean what they say,” he said simply.

You turned away, trying to hide your flustered expression, but he was already walking toward the river, bare feet silent on the grass.

“You’ll be back tomorrow,” he called without looking back.

“What makes you think that?” you shouted.

He lifted his flute, playing a single note that made the air shimmer.

“Because curiosity,” he said softly, “always follows the sound of truth.”

And with that, he vanished — the golden light swallowing him whole.

You stood there, heart racing, unsure if he was real or dream. But that night, as you closed your eyes, you swore you could still hear that same melody — the one that made your pulse skip.