You disappear like a Ketu transit—no warning, no closure

You vanish like a Ketu transit. No sound. No goodbye. You drift without explanation. Not out of spite—just instinct. Something inside says “it’s time.” And you obey. No fight. No drama. Just a quiet unhooking from the world. It unsettles people. They don’t know what changed. But you do. The moment arrives. And you don’t ask questions. You disappear.

Your chart was built this way. Ketu speaks through silence. Through endings that come too soon. You follow that current. Even when it makes no sense. Even when your heart lingers. You feel when something is over. Long before it breaks. You don’t leave to punish. You leave to return—to self, to stillness, to soul. That path isn’t logical. It’s karmic. Ancient. Felt.

Your astrology holds the signs. Ketu touching your Moon. A planet in the 12th. Scorpio rising. Or nakshatras that whisper endings—Ashwini, Mula, Jyeshtha. They carry the scent of past lives. Of souls that have left too many times to count. So you detach. Without meaning to. You release what clings. Even if it once mattered deeply. It’s how you survive. It’s how you stay whole.

People feel your absence. They don’t always say it. But they do. Because when you’re present, you’re deep. You notice everything. You hold silence like a song. You listen in ways most forget. And then—gone. Like smoke. Like memory. They replay the last words. But there’s no signal. No answer. Just space. That’s how your soul moves.

You’ve learned not to explain. Most wouldn’t understand. Not the timing. Not the pull. Not the sadness that follows freedom. Because it’s not easy. Letting go never is. But some part of you always knew. You weren’t here to stay too long. You were here to sense. To cut ties. To move on. That’s the Ketu rhythm. Detach. Drift. Begin again.

You carry karma in your bones. Things you can’t name. Emotions that don’t belong to this life. You feel them anyway. And one day, they ask to be released. That’s the moment you go quiet. You change direction. You step away. There’s grief in that shift. And peace too. You don’t need closure. You just need space.

Others may call it distance. Withdrawal. Escape. But it’s none of those. It’s sacred. It’s how your soul breathes. You leave to stay whole. You leave to hear yourself again. This isn’t rejection. It’s return. Return to what’s real. To what still fits. To what doesn’t cost your peace.

You’ve lived too many lives holding on. This one is about letting go. Not in anger—but with grace. You don’t vanish to be cruel. You vanish because your path asks you to. Because your soul knows the cycle is complete. Even when the mind still lingers.

So you disappear. Softly. Without harm. Without noise. You leave like a shadow at dusk. And those who know the quiet—they’ll understand. They’ll feel the truth beneath the silence. They won’t chase. They’ll honor the mystery. And that’s enough.