Doggo

My grandmother's street dog found me first, nosing through my backpack in Srivilliputhur. I laughed, sharing the moment online while sitting under the neem tree where she'd played as a child. The post gathered unexpected warmth—distant cousins liking it, school friends commenting their own village memories. That evening, someone offered me freelance work through the platform. It felt serendipitous, like the universe conspiring gently. I sent money home to Amma, finally able to support her dream shop. The doggo still greets me at the gate. We're both exactly where we belong, tethered to something deeper than algorithms—roots that run through generations.