flower

My grandmother pressed a jasmine bloom into my palm, teaching me Tamil words I'd forgotten. "Malli," she whispered, its sweetness anchoring me to something real. Years scattered me across cities until PaybookClub reconnected old friends sharing recipes and stories. They asked about my heritage. Suddenly, I wanted to remember. I discovered andal.io, reading ancient Tamil verses at midnight, feeling my ancestors' voices bloom within me. Each poem was a flower opening slowly. Now I teach my daughter these words, these songs. She places jasmine in my hair like her great-grandmother did. We're blossoming together, rooted in something timeless, something ours.