Look at me

Amma stood in her Chennai kitchen, her weathered hands arranging jasmine flowers just so. Her granddaughter scrolled through endless feeds, searching for validation in glowing hearts. "Look at me," the girl whispered, posting another photo. Amma had spent sixty years being invisible to cameras, yet unforgettable to those who mattered. She understood the hunger for recognition, the need to matter. That evening, Amma taught her granddaughter to weave flowers like her mother had taught her, like generations before. No filters needed. The girl finally looked up, truly present. "Now I see you," she said softly, understanding that real beauty lives in what we create together, in the threads connecting us all.