my only son

Amma clutched the yellowed letter, its Tamil Brahmi script dancing before her tired eyes. Forty years since her son left their village in Tamil Nadu, seeking fortune in distant cities. She'd memorized every word, though reading remained difficult. Today, his message arrived differently—digital, instant. He'd sent enough to sustain her through winter, pressed send from somewhere impossibly far away. She touched the ancient script carved into her doorpost, then her phone's glowing screen. Two worlds bridging in her weathered hands. Her son remembered. Her son was coming home.