A Monsoon of Joy
Thunder cracked just as I began typing, and my first instinct was to run to the balcony to rescue the laundry. I had already done it. That small reflex told me everything. Somewhere between childhood picnics to Lonavala and adult grocery lists, the monsoon stopped being a season and became a task. This piece sits with that shift, the rain outside unchanged, the pressure inside entirely my own.


