The mist lingered low over the hills that morning, weaving like a soft shawl draped across the slopes. Ishaan sat beneath the deodar tree, his fingers tracing idle patterns into the moist earth, while thoughts of Myra shimmered through his mind like sunlight dancing on still water. Something had changed after the quiz—their quiet camaraderie now hummed with a subtle intensity neither of them fully understood, but both deeply felt.
It was not in grand gestures or spoken promises. It was in the way her name lingered on his lips even when unspoken. In the way his heart beat just a touch faster when he spotted her from across the corridor. Myra had stepped into his life not like a storm, but like a soft poem read under candlelight—each line revealing more than the last.
He recalled clearly the day she first approached him for help. It wasn’t just the request for a book; it was the way she’d asked. Direct, but with a hint of curiosity that seemed to reach beyond the surface. The quiz topic had surprised many—Child Care and Family Planning—a mature subject, loaded with societal perceptions and silent hesitations. But Myra had asked for reading material without the slightest giggle or awkwardness. Ishaan had admired that.
What he didn’t admit to anyone, not even himself at the time, was how heavily he’d hesitated before deciding to lend her the book. It wasn’t a textbook from their syllabus—it was from his uncle’s private collection, a well-thumbed medical volume, factual but unflinching. It spoke candidly of biology, reproduction, contraception—terms that still made classmates squirm in discomfort.
But she had asked. And he could not deny her.
When he had handed it to her the next day, carefully wrapped in newspaper to preserve both dignity and discretion, he noticed how her eyes searched his face—not for approval or attraction, but perhaps for understanding. He offered none. Just a nod, and a simple sentence: “It’s straightforward. But helpful.”
She had taken it, her fingers brushing his, the touch brief but electrifying. For the next two days, Ishaan avoided thinking too deeply about it. Until she returned the book.
There was a hesitation in her movement, the way she held it between both hands like it was something sacred yet fragile. A flicker of embarrassment danced across her face, but her smile outshone it.
“Very helpful,” she had said softly, eyes not quite meeting his. “Thank you… and for being so… open.”
It wasn’t just the gratitude that touched him, but the honesty behind it. That simple exchange had stripped away the superficial awkwardness often surrounding such subjects. Myra hadn’t laughed. She hadn’t mocked. Instead, she had returned it with respect, appreciation, and something unspoken.
From that point on, the air between them shimmered with unsaid things.
The day of the quiz had been one of nervous anticipation. And this time, it wasn’t fate or faculty that paired them together—Myra had asked Ishaan to participate with her. It was a quiet invitation, shared under the tree between classes.
“I want you with me,” she’d said, almost casually, but her eyes revealed the sincerity behind the offer.
There were only two boys among five girls in the medical session, so the competition for a female partner was not intense. In fact, Myra’s friends had taken note of her growing closeness with Ishaan—and not all of them were pleased. A few tried to dissuade her subtly, drawing her attention away, placing gentle wedges between their growing bond. Even Anjali, one of her friends pretended to show love and care for Ishaan, just to draw him away from her and closer to herself by pointing out how much more affection he was showing. Envy has its own ways of dressing in friendly concern.
But Ishaan had sensed the truth. Beneath the smiles, the shared laughter, he could hear the deeper call. Myra wasn’t just choosing him for his academic grasp—she was choosing him for something more instinctual, more spiritual. And that was all he needed to know.
Ishaan’s calm presence and sharp knowledge complemented Myra’s eloquence and poise. Together, they were a force of quiet brilliance.
During the segment on child development, when Myra spoke about the psychological importance of early parental bonding, Ishaan couldn’t help but notice the way a hush fell over the room. Her voice carried both intelligence and care. She wasn’t reciting answers—she was speaking truth.
Later, one of their classmates whispered to Ishaan, “Bro, you looked like you were going to cry when she answered that question. You okay?”
He had laughed it off, but in truth, something had stirred within him. Not just admiration—but reverence.
Now, sitting beneath that deodar, those moments replayed in his mind. The quiz was over. Their names had been announced among the top scorers. But the event had done something more than just bring accolades. It had opened a new page in the quiet book of their shared story.
They still hadn’t spoken alone since. Conversations remained nestled within the comfort of the group—safe, public, undefined. Yet, each shared glance felt like a verse in an ancient poem only they could read.
Sometimes, Ishaan would catch her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking. And sometimes, their eyes would meet across the classroom, and something ancient would stir—something older than their lives, something deeper than teenage affection.
One afternoon, as they sat with friends discussing the quiz, the topic drifted to the book.
“Ishaan gave me the weirdest book,” Myra said casually, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“Weird?” he asked.
“Weirdly… honest.”
A chuckle went around. Someone added, “Bro, bold move giving that to a girl.”
Ishaan shrugged. “She asked.”
Myra smiled. “And I respect that he didn’t sugarcoat knowledge. Truth shouldn’t be hidden in silence.”
That moment etched itself into Ishaan’s soul. In her, he saw the fearlessness of a seeker. Someone who valued truth over comfort. Someone who could laugh at herself but never at the sacred.
That night, Ishaan lay on his cot, eyes open to the ceiling. The quiet murmur of pine needles brushing against his window felt like whispers from a wiser world.
He thought of Myra—not as a girl, not as a crush, but as a reflection. She hadn’t just stepped into his world—she had cracked it open.
He remembered something his grandfather once told him during a village evening under the stars: “When your soul’s longing takes form, she may appear not as a goddess, but as a friend. Or a stranger. Or even a classmate. But you’ll know her—not by her words, but by what her silence awakens in you.”
That’s what Myra had become.
Not merely a girl with curious eyes and a confident smile. But a mirror that reflected his truest yearning—to learn, to grow, to awaken.
Perhaps that was why the subject of family planning, so taboo for many, had not felt inappropriate between them. It had felt… natural. Because they were seekers. Not of romance, not even of companionship—but of understanding. Of truth, no matter where it lay.
And Ishaan began to sense it—Myra was not here by chance.
She was not just a classmate.
She was his catalyst.
She would become his Guru.
And though their journey had barely begun, the first pages of perception had already turned.
Like ancient scriptures hidden in plain sight, waiting to be read.
As he drifted into sleep, he whispered a thought to the night wind:
“She who became my Guru… doesn’t even know it yet.”
The pines rustled softly.
Perhaps they did.
Demystifying Kundalini 