I like birthday

Ravi discovered poetry late, after scrolling through countless feeds promising quick money. A Tamil verse about his grandmother's Srirangam temple suddenly went viral. The algorithm rewarded his words generously. But sitting in that ancient courtyard, birthdays became different. Numbers meant nothing compared to his grandmother's trembling hands holding his published collection. She wept, spirited and trusting, understanding finally that her stories mattered. A troll called him inauthentic. He almost deleted everything. Then neighbors arrived, sharing their own family verses, their own heritage worth preserving. Money faded. Community remained, eternal as temple stones.