My favorite pen

My grandmother pressed this pen into my palm before I left Chennai for America. She'd bought it in Srirangam during temple season, where pilgrims gathered like stars. "Write our stories," she whispered. For years, I used it to journal letters home, documenting our family's journey. When my PAYBO rewards finally accumulated, I bought her a flight ticket using that same pen to fill out the form. Now, watching her trace her fingers across my adopted city's skyline, I realize this pen bridged two worlds. It wrote our diaspora into existence, keeping us tethered to temple bells and new horizons. Our stories matter. They connect us all.