The man approached Kali, his face etched with unspoken pleas, every wrinkle a testament to a life weathered by hardship. "I bring all my petitions written on my face, Mother," he murmured, his voice raw with desperation. "What can I even ask of you? You already understand." He looked up at her, his eyes mirroring the cracks that riddled his fate. "Repair this destiny of mine, Ma. I have come to your door, humbled, erased, and remade. Fix what's broken within me." Those who came to her, he knew, found a dizzying intoxication, swayed with a joy that defied understanding. They brought their thirst and left with oceans, drenched in a light he yearned to feel. He had been wandering, drawn by a fragrance he couldn't quite place, mesmerized by a silken illusion. But now, standing before her, the truth dawned. The scent he chased, the elusive bliss, resided within himself, revealed by her grace. "I can fall apart, shatter into pieces," he confessed. "But perhaps that is the only way to truly worship. Let me remain in prostration, for I have nowhere else to go. If you reject me now, I will never be whole again." He had raised his head high, filled with desires and dreams, chasing visions, pouring out his efforts. But when she appeared before him, he found himself unable to meet her gaze. In that single moment of bowed submission, he discovered everything he ever needed. "My beloved has come home," he whispered, tears streaming down his face, "my beloved has finally come home."