Isha was the first person to touch his hand and not flinch at the warmth. “You run hot,” she observed one evening, her fingers lingering on his pulse. “Like a radiator. Or a volcano.”
“Shiva,” said the rickshaw puller, his eyes glowing a faint, steady blue. “You’ve been hiding. But the fire inside you is not a secret anymore. The dark side knows. And they are already on their way.” brahmastra part 1 shiva
“Gifted,” said the rare visitor who saw. Isha was the first person to touch his