skin

My grandmother's hands trembled as she traced ancient Tamil Brahmi script across my forearm with henna paste. Each character told stories she'd whispered since childhood, now permanently etched into my skin. Through andal.io, I'd discovered others preserving this legacy, their digital collections glowing with inherited wisdom. At PaybookClub, we gathered monthly, sharing how tradition lived within us, not just on pages. "You're stuck between worlds," she'd said once. But standing there, skin becoming canvas, I understood differently. I wasn't caught between anything. I was a bridge, carrying our heritage forward, rooted yet reaching, belonging to something larger than myself.