Rahu in the 1st = people want you and don’t know why

Rahu in the 1st feels like being seen through smoke. You walk in, and eyes follow. Not always with joy. Not always with intent. But they follow. There’s something strange in your energy. Heavy and sharp, but soft at the edges. You don’t ask for attention. It just finds you. It clings. Even when you want to disappear, you don’t. You linger in minds longer than you should.

This placement blurs who you are. The self is never simple here. It shifts. One day you feel known. The next, a stranger. Rahu brings hunger, but not peace. You become a mirror. People place dreams on your face. Fantasies, fears, projections. You feel them watching. You feel them reaching. But rarely do they reach for what’s real. And you wonder—do they even see you?

You try on different skins. Styles, faces, names. Reinvention is second nature. Not for drama, but survival. You adapt fast. You read rooms like weather. But the cost is confusion. When the world stops watching, you ask—who am I without them? You live on the edge of your own image. Close, but never fully there.

There’s magnetism in this. An odd beauty. A pull that doesn’t explain itself. People are drawn to you, sometimes obsessively. They call you intense. Mysterious. Dangerous, even. But you don’t feel dangerous. You feel tired. Tired of being seen and never touched. Of being wanted, but never known.

You walk with ghosts. Unfinished things. Karmic weight. People follow you, not for who you are, but what you awaken. You stir things. Desires they forgot. Questions they avoided. That power is silent, but loud in its effect. You don’t speak it. You carry it. And it speaks for you.

With Rahu in the 1st, the self is always becoming. Never settled. Never done. You seek grounding, but Rahu keeps you floating. Not aimless—but untethered. You weren’t made to blend. You were made to disturb. To spark. To haunt a little. That is your gift. That is your ache.

In time, the chaos softens. You stop chasing solid form. You let the image melt. You begin to speak from within, not through mirrors. And still, people look. But now, they see what you choose to show. Not the illusion. Not the projection. Just you—unfolding slowly, like smoke in the dark.