There are days I wake up burning.
Not from fever. Not from anger.
From memory.
I don't remember everything. Not yet.
But I remember humiliation.
I remember standing in a hall filled with men, none of whom would meet my eyes. I remember silk slipping, blood screaming in my throat, and the taste of my own dignity as it was torn away.
But I did not cry.
I vowed.
And that vow has followed me into this life.
My name is Devika Rao. I'm a criminal defense lawyer in Bangalore. I don't believe in gods, fate, or reincarnation.
But I believe in justice.
And I believe in fire.
They call me cold. Ruthless. Unshakable.
They say I tear apart witnesses with the precision of a surgeon and the heart of a machine. That's fine. Let them speak.
I know what it is to be on the other side of silence.
I've lived there before.
The dreams began a year ago. A court. A game of dice. A man I trusted looking away. Another smirking, gloating. And then—a conch shell, distant and final.
I'd wake with clenched fists and words on my tongue that didn't belong to this age.
"I will not bind my hair until I see blood."
What kind of woman says that?
Apparently, me.
I see them sometimes.
Men I've never met—but whom my soul aches to recognize.
A tall one with guilt in his eyes.
A fierce one with fists like thunder.
A quiet one who watches too much.
A beautiful one who never quite meets my gaze.
A twin whose sorrow runs deeper than his smile.
And him.
Krishna.
I don't know what name he wears now, or if he even remembers me.
But I remember everything about him.
His smile. His eyes. His promise.
"When Dharma falls, I will rise."
I used to think justice was about law and logic.
But something deeper stirs inside me now.
Something old and unrelenting.
This isn't just a new life.
This is unfinished business.
The fire never died.
It just waited.
And now, it's waking up with me.