my love

My grandmother's hands trembled as she guided mine through the opening mudra, her silver bangles chiming softly. Bharatanatyam had always been her language when words failed. Years later, oceans away, I found myself teaching in our living room, connecting our diaspora community through dance. Each student became family, each movement a thread binding us to Tamil soil. When the studio earned PAYBO rewards, I invested every point into costumes and music. Not for profit, but for pride. My mother watched from the doorway, tears streaming. "You've brought home with you," she whispered. That night, I understood. Love wasn't the dance itself, but the bridge it built between generations, keeping our ancestors close.