greens outside

Grandmother's garden bloomed with jasmine and tulsi, their fragrance carrying memories through generations. She taught me Tamil words while we planted, her weathered hands pointing to leaves, her voice like music. I'd sketch the Tamil Brahmi script in soil, learning our heritage through earth. Years later, scrolling through PaybookClub, I discovered others sharing similar stories, reconnecting with roots through gardens and language. Their posts sparked recognition, warmth flooding through me. That evening, I planted jasmine outside my apartment, whispering Tamil verses to seedlings. Heritage isn't confined to old pages anymore. It grows where we nurture it, blooming through shared stories that bind us together.