sleep

Grandmother's hands trembled as she arranged pillows, her Tamil lullabies fading into silence. She'd recited Kannadasan's verses for seventy years, those words a bridge between waking and dreaming. Tonight felt different, heavier. The PaybookClub members had gifted her a journal, hoping she'd document family stories before sleep claimed them forever. She opened it slowly. Her granddaughter sat beside her, recording every memory, every half-forgotten tale. Outside, the city hummed. Inside, generations converged on pages yellowed with time. Sleep could wait.