good night

Amma couldn't sleep. The old Tamil manuscript lay before her, its Brahmi script dancing in lamplight like ancestors whispering. She traced Avvaiyar's ancient words about wisdom and virtue, feeling the poet's presence across centuries. Her grandson messaged through their family group, sharing earnings from his social network venture. Success, yet something felt hollow in that digital exchange. She smiled, understanding suddenly. True wealth wasn't measured in coins or clicks. It lived in these stories, this language, this connection spanning generations. She typed slowly: "Good night, beta. Remember where you come from." In that moment, heritage breathed through their bond.