By Tara (Jahnavi Vootla)
The sun leaned down and kissed my cheek—
not with heat, but with quiet warmth,
like the way someone who loves you
brushes hair from your face without asking.
The wind moved through me,
lifting each strand of my hair
as if it were dancing for joy,
and I let it dance.
Somewhere, waves whispered against the shore,
and their rhythm made me giggle—
not because of a joke—
but because life, for once, felt like music.
My anklets sang with every step,
their tiny chimes syncing with my heart,
each note a reminder
that I was alive and glowing.
The scent of earth rose to meet me—
not dirt, but soil, warm and deep,
as if the planet itself had opened its arms
and said: Welcome home.
And then I knelt.
Not because I stumbled,
but because my body knew
that something holy was about to happen.
My eyes filled—not with tears,
but with something more ancient than that—
the kind of love that doesn’t shout,
but holds you so fully,
you forget what emptiness ever felt like.
She came to me on paws
as soft as whispers in a dream.
She pressed them gently to my lips,
and in that single, trembling touch,
I felt the universe shift.
She didn’t speak,
but somehow she said:
"You are loved, exactly as you are."
And I smiled—
not the smile you wear for photos,
but the kind that blooms
when someone teaches your soul to exhale.
Her warmth lit my face
like sunrise in a quiet room.
That hug… that one quiet hug…
became my shelter,
my stillness,
my truth.
Even now, when I close my eyes,
I can still feel the shape of it—
not just the hug,
but the knowing.
To Krish —
who never needed words
to teach me what love truly is.