flowers

Grandmother's wrinkled hands arranged jasmine blossoms across the puja altar, the same ritual she'd performed during Thiruppavai season for fifty years. Her granddaughter watched, phone in hand, scrolling through PaybookClub posts about wellness. "Paati, why flowers every single day?" she asked. Grandmother smiled, inhaling the fragrance. "These aren't just flowers, child. They're prayers, memories, our Tamil ancestors' whispers." The girl set down her phone, suddenly understanding. Those delicate petals carried generations of devotion. She reached for jasmine, sitting beside her grandmother as twilight painted everything gold. In that moment, heritage bloomed between them.