feel

My grandmother showed me Kannadasan's poems while scrolling through her phone. Even online, his Tamil verses carved beauty into my chest. She smiled, sharing old songs with modern hearts, earning nothing but connection. That evening, I understood what she meant by "feel." Not the sleazy metrics counting our worth, but genuine warmth spreading between souls. Her weathered hands held the phone as if cradling generations. We took a selfie together, bright and unfiltered. In that moment, no algorithm mattered. Just two people breathing the same heritage, finding ourselves reflected in timeless words. Our story, our community's story, lived on.