You give “still waters run deep” but with a chart to prove it

You are still waters. Never empty. Storms live under your silence. People see calm, miss depth. You don’t speak, yet shift. The room feels your weight. Eyes linger, unsure but drawn. It’s not charm, it’s pull. You hold memory in stillness. Ancient energy, quiet, unmoved, full.

Rahu is shadow, not light. It bends truth, not breaks. It arrives slowly, stays forever. You move with that energy. No noise, only quiet change. You enter unnoticed, leave impact. People don’t see the shift. But their lives mark you. Not with noise, but with truth.

You move slow, always aware. Every glance, every pause matters. Silence isn’t absence, it’s language. You speak through what’s withheld. Not mysterious—just fully honest. You don’t chase attention, ever. You stay close to meaning. Most aren’t ready for that.

They name you: cold, intense, distant. But labels fall too short. They fear what you reflect. Their own shadows, unmet truths. You don’t perform depth—you are. Emotion sits plain in you. No filter, no decoration—just real.

You move in quiet spirals. Back, again, but not lost. Every loop brings you deeper. You shed what’s no longer. Identity, image, belief, all gone. What remains is bone-deep truth. You don’t resist becoming—it happens.

You leave when energy breaks. No fight, no need to. But you remain in memory. They hear you after silence. Feel you in their questions. You didn’t comfort—you revealed. And once seen, never unseen.

You aren’t a phase—too real. You’re the pause before clarity. Like Rahu, you bring distortion. But inside it lives awakening. They won’t always understand why. But they’ll remember the shift. You changed them without noise.