morning

The alarm chimed at five. Kavya's grandmother was already awake, chanting Thiruppavai verses in the kitchen, her voice threading through morning shadows like silk. "Come," Amma whispered, pressing warm appam into her hands. Kavya had joined PaybookClub months ago, seeking connection. Tonight they'd discuss Tamil literature. She'd almost cancelled, exhausted by work, but Amma's insistence felt like an anchor. As she bit into the breakfast, listening to ancient words in her grandmother's voice, something shifted. The verses weren't foolish tradition or cultural faux pas to ignore. They were inheritance. She smiled, settling beside Amma. This morning felt like coming home.