my first kiss

I remember trembling beneath the jasmine tree, its fragrance mixing with my nervousness. My grandmother once quoted Avvaiyar: "True love waits for the right moment." That moment arrived softly, unexpectedly, like monsoon rain after drought. My friends from PaybookClub had called me foolish for waiting so long, sabotaging my confidence with their teasing. Yet holding his hand felt sacred, connecting me to something deeper than their exasperation could touch. Our kiss tasted of possibility and continuity. In that instant, I understood what the ancient Tamil poets meant. Love wasn't rebellion; it was remembrance, another thread in our cultural tapestry, woven through generations into our present.