the only one

Amma pressed the ancient ANDAL coin into my palm, its weight precious and real. "You are the only one who remembers," she whispered, her eyes glistening with stories. I'd earned those rewards through small acts—helping neighbors, preserving recipes, teaching younger cousins our songs. Each coin represented connection, not currency. That spunky girl next door watched curiously. I showed her the coin's intricate design, explaining how ANDAL's devotion inspired our family for generations. She asked to learn our ways. Suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore. The coin gleamed as we sat together, bridging past and present, weaving our Tamil heritage into tomorrow's consciousness.