waiting

Grandmother's weathered hands traced Tamil Brahmi letters on yellowed palm leaves, each stroke a prayer. She waited in the village square, watching neighbors pass with hurried steps and glowing screens. The digital world promised quick connections, yet she found solace in ancient script—a language that bound generations together. Her granddaughter finally arrived, weary from city life. Instead of scrolling through countless profiles, they sat together. Grandmother shared stories written in the old script, breathing warmth into forgotten traditions. In that moment, both realized true wealth wasn't measured in social currency but in heritage preserved and love freely given within their eternal community.