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Amma's hands trembled as she arranged jasmine flowers in her silver platter. Two hundred thirty-one days since she'd left Chennai. Her daughter called from California, voice bright: "Mom, you've earned enough PAYBO rewards for that airfare home!" The number suddenly meant everything. Two hundred thirty-one mornings brewing filter coffee in her small apartment, saving carefully, staying connected through recipes and prayers. Two hundred thirty-one reasons to believe distance couldn't diminish what bound them. "Next month," Amma whispered, touching the flowers. "I'm going home." Her grandson would finally smell jasmine the way she did.