morning to you all

Every dawn, Priya walks past the weathered Kannadasan statue on Mount Road, her coffee steaming against the cool Chennai air. She discovered PaybookClub last winter, a gathering where strangers became storytellers. Today, she brings her grandmother's leather journal, filled with the poet's verses she'd copied as a girl. "Morning to you all," she whispers, opening its pages. The group listens intently, recognizing something authoritative in her voice, something never forgotten. Her confessions tumble forth—how these words fit perfectly into her own struggles. An old man nods knowingly. They're all connected here, bound by this city's beating heart and its unspoken diatribe against forgetting.