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Meera's fingers trembled holding her grandmother's silk saree, the one woven in Chennai forty years ago. Living in Toronto, she'd felt perplexed by her roots until her daughter asked about their heritage. That night, Meera wore it to the Tamil cultural festival, feeling warm recognition from strangers becoming friends. A woman approached, eyes glistening. She'd survived the journey alone, just like Meera's grandmother. They talked for hours, sharing recipes and memories. The resentment Meera once felt toward her background transformed into pride. When her daughter hugged her, adorned in the same saree, Meera understood. Home wasn't a place. It was woven into every thread of connection.