"Krishna," she whispered, sitting beside him. "The villagers say that to truly love, one must be prepared to lose everything. But if I lose everything, what is left of 'me' to love you?"

Krishna smiled, that enigmatic glint in his eyes deepening. "Exactly. The fire does not destroy the clay; it transforms it. It burns away the 'softness'—the ego and the fear—to make the vessel strong enough to hold the Divine nectar."

"It remains fragile," Radha replied. "It can never hold water. It will eventually crumble back into dust."

Krishna stood up and looked out over the darkened water. "The world will see the fire and call it 'trouble' or 'scandal.' But those who walk through it know it is simply the heat required to make love permanent."

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