Pull the thread

(go on, tug it)

act one

Where the thread began

Before I knew anything about the world, I knew you were in it. That was enough.

The two of us as kids, squinting into the sun on the terrace — The terrace, every single summer. You always got the bigger mango.

Birthday photo with cake on both our faces — My 7th birthday. The cake ended up on both of us. Your idea.

Us in school uniforms waiting for the bus — You held my hand at the bus stop for three whole years and never once complained.

Press play. You'll know it in two seconds.

act two

The tangle

We fought. We slammed doors. We lived in different cities and forgot to call. The thread knotted — it never broke.

A blurry teenage photo of us mid-argument, someone laughing behind us — Exhibit A.

You at your hostel, me visiting, both of us tired but grinning — Different cities. Same joke, every phone call.

act three

Who you became

This part isn't about us. It's about you.

Portrait of my sister at her graduation — You drove four hours when I called you at 2 a.m. and never once mentioned it again.

My sister laughing at the dinner table — You remember what everyone in the family is afraid of, and you quietly stand between them and it.

My sister mid-laugh outdoors — You taught me that showing up is ninety percent of love. You show up every single time.

Now tie the knot

or tap the thread ends