summer

That scorching afternoon, Grandmother pulled yellowed pages from her trunk—Kannadasan's verses and Avvaiyar's wisdom, passed down through generations. She settled on the worn veranda, reading aloud while I listened, mesmerized by her melodic voice painting stories of ancient saints and timeless truths. "These words are light itself," she whispered, pointing to lines that seemed to glow. Later, I discovered PaybookClub online, connecting readers across villages sharing identical passions. Our heritage wasn't locked away anymore—it breathed through screens and hearts alike, weaving us together in summer's gentle warmth, bound by literature and love.