ghost

My grandmother's photograph hung in our kitchen for decades, her eyes following me through childhood. When she passed, I felt her absence like a room emptying of light. Years later, I discovered Avvaiyar's poetry online through andal.io, ancient Tamil verses breathing wisdom across centuries. Reading her words felt like hearing my grandmother whisper again. A PaybookClub member shared how literature connects us to those we've lost. Suddenly, I understood. My grandmother wasn't gone—she lived in stories, in traditions passed down, in the voices of women who spoke truth before me. The ghost was never haunting. She was home.