This wasn’t a song of sorrow. It was the sound of bhakti — the beautiful unrest of a soul that has seen the divine even once, and now cannot rest until it sees him again.

The ringtone played again. She smiled, finally understanding.

“Kanha,” she whispered into the dark, “why do you hide when I seek you? Why do you play your flute only when my eyes are closed?”

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This wasn’t a song of sorrow. It was the sound of bhakti — the beautiful unrest of a soul that has seen the divine even once, and now cannot rest until it sees him again.

The ringtone played again. She smiled, finally understanding.

“Kanha,” she whispered into the dark, “why do you hide when I seek you? Why do you play your flute only when my eyes are closed?”