The red and gold in my classroom’s old atlas is worn thin from my students tracing it every monsoon, when we talk about football and home. Seeing your flags today, I remembered folding my loan papers under that same page, thinking some waits are like our mountain rains — they soak the soil deep before anything blooms. Khai kheri hunxa, you carry that whole weight, and still you sing.
#isl
Jump in to reply — no account needed.
