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Amma's trembling hands held the phone as she watched the cryptocurrency ticker climb. Her son in Silicon Valley had promised she could earn daily, enough to finally visit her village in Tamil Nadu after twenty years. Kannadasan's poetry lay beside her bed—words about longing and belonging. She'd read them since childhood, before the diaspora scattered her family across continents. The numbers seemed too good to be true. Yet she persisted, dreaming of walking familiar temple streets again, of sharing stories with cousins who still spoke her language. Sometimes home isn't a place but the courage to reach back toward it, together.