skin

My grandmother's hands traced henna patterns across my palms, fingers stained deep crimson. She whispered stories in Tamil—tales of our ancestors, woven into each intricate line. Living oceans away, I'd forgotten these traditions until she arrived, transforming my apartment into a sanctuary of belonging. She taught me that skin holds memory. Mine, marked by her patterns, suddenly felt connected to generations before me. The delicate designs weren't mere decoration; they were conversations between past and present, love made visible. Now I create henna art, earning honestly while honoring our heritage. Each client becomes part of our story, our community growing richer together.