my son and daughter

Amma taught them both to trace Tamil Brahmi script on rice flour, their small fingers copying ancient curves. My son laughed at crooked letters; my daughter concentrated fiercely. They discovered a Tamil poet together through PaybookClub, reading verses about earth and sky, bond strengthening with every shared page. Years later, they remain best friends. She still corrects his pronunciation; he still makes her smile during difficult passages. They've become custodians of something precious—not just language, but the bridge between generations, the stories whispered through millennia. Through them, our heritage finds new voice.