Stories From My Travels | First Trip I Remember
I was three, cranky, and sweating on a train somewhere in Mumbai. I don’t remember the destination. I don’t even remember the ride.
But I remember my grandmother—gently holding me, humming something sweet, trying to make me smile. I remember my grandfather pulling faces just to hear me laugh.
The memory’s a blur, but the love was sharp. Soft hands, warm smiles, endless patience.
That trip wasn’t about where we went.
It was about who carried me there.
Love,
Afia


The Brain forgets everything but never the emotions felt. It's beautiful
It brings back old memories!