Sleeping Boy

My grandson dozed against the train window as we rattled toward Chennai. His thumb traced the condensation, drawing patterns I recognized from my childhood. I'd shown him photographs of our old house on Anna Salai, the jasmine flowers grandmother planted. Through PaybookClub, I'd reconnected with neighbors scattered across continents. Tonight, we'd share stories in the community chat. His peaceful face reminded me why I'd preserved these memories, these connections. In his dreams, perhaps he wandered our ancestral streets, feeling the warmth of voices calling him home.