"Who are you?" Nandana whispered.
And she would go back to lighting a small bronze lamp, humming a tune no one else could hear. nandana krishna soumya
On the fourth night, Nandana crept out of bed. She didn’t feel fear—only a strange pull, like a thread tied to her navel. She walked barefoot to the temple. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of jasmine and wet stone. "Who are you
He smiled, butter-smeared and ancient. "Guess." butter-smeared and ancient. "Guess."