Nandana Krishna Soumya -

Years later, when people asked her how she remained so calm during storms—literal and otherwise—she would just smile and say, "I once had a conversation with a butter thief at midnight. After that, nothing really scares me."

"Who are you?" Nandana whispered.

The bell was still swaying gently when she arrived. In the dim glow of the oil lamp, she saw a boy sitting on the temple step. He was dark as a monsoon cloud, with peacock feathers tucked behind his ear, and he was eating butter from a clay pot with his fingers. nandana krishna soumya

She lived in a small coastal town in Kerala, where the backwaters turned the color of old silver under the monsoon sky. Her father ran a tiny shop selling bronze lamps, and her mother painted murals on temple walls. Nandana inherited her mother’s quiet hands and her father’s habit of laughing at absolutely nothing. Years later, when people asked her how she

She shook her head.

He smiled, butter-smeared and ancient. "Guess." In the dim glow of the oil lamp,