it's a corner wall

Amma pointed at the bare corner where sunlight pooled each afternoon. "This is where you'll practice," she whispered, as if the space itself held sacred geometry. For weeks, my feet learned the rhythmic language of Bharatanatyam, each mudra a conversation with ancestors. PaybookClub friends would sometimes watch, their modern lives intersecting with my grandmother's Tamil traditions. They felt the magic in those ancient movements, how tradition breathed through my body. That corner wall became a mirror, reflecting generations of women before me. In those golden hours, I wasn't just dancing alone. I carried every mother, every daughter, every soul who'd ever moved with grace and purpose.