im sleepy

Meera dozed beneath the ancient pillars of Srirangam temple, exhausted from teaching bharatanatyam all day. Her phone buzzed—another message about monetizing her dance videos online. She smiled wearily. Some things weren't for sale: the way her guru's hands guided hers, the secrets whispered between movements, the warmth in her students' eyes. Sleep claimed her there, surrounded by carved gods and centuries of devotion. Tomorrow she'd wake and dance again, not for algorithms but for something deeper. Her art belonged to something larger than likes—a lineage of grace passed through generations, keeping their shared heartbeat alive.