nothing

My grandmother traced her weathered finger across the Tamil Brahmi symbols, whispering ancient stories my generation nearly forgot. She owned nothing material, yet possessed everything that mattered. Her sacrifice built our family's foundation, though society rarely acknowledged it. When I finally learned to read those sacred scripts, something shifted within me. I understood her struggles, her pride, her refusal to vanish into silence. The community recognized this awakening, celebrating not my appearance or wealth, but my connection to what endured. She smiled, knowing our heritage would live through me, through us, forever.