All mylove,
Grandma
I sit with the letter pressed flat against my thigh, the weight of it grounding rather than heavy.
Outside, footsteps, voices, a bell marking the hour.
Inside, something settles, and I reach for the small pouch Mira included with the letter.
Inside are seeds wrapped in wax paper and labeled in her precise script.
Tulsi. Holy basil.
I hold the packet for a long moment.
Tulsi wasn't common here in the UK. It required warmth. Protection from frost.
It also had history, used by Asha, by Mira, by women who understood that healing wasn't just about bodies. It was about balance.
I tuck the seeds carefully into my bag.
Later.
I wake to certainty.
The warmth I've been noticing for days has deepened overnight. It pools low in my abdomen, constant and undeniable. My skin feels more present, aware of the sheets against my legs, the weight of my braid across my shoulder.
I lie still for a moment, listening to my body.
This is happening.
I sit up slowly, braid slipping forward as I press my feet to thecool floor. The contrast grounds me, heat inside, coolness without. I breathe deeply, counting the inhales.
One. Two. Three.
I think of Mira's letter, the words she wrote in careful script:Biology is information, not instruction. You don't owe meaning to anyone before you decide what it is.
I stand and move to the window, looking out at the campus just beginning to wake. Early morning light filters through the trees, soft and patient. Somewhere, students are sleeping. Somewhere, the greenhouse waits, glass panes catching the first hints of dawn.
I press my palm to my sternum, feeling the warmth there.
This is my body doing what it's designed to do.
But I'm still here. I'm still me.
And I get to decide what this means.
Ms. Hartley's office is quiet when I arrive an hour later, the halls still mostly empty.
She looks up from her desk, takes one look at me, and her expression shifts to something professional but kind. "Elowen, come in. Close the door if you'd like."
I do.
She waits, hands folded on her desk, giving me room to speak first.
"I need the heat suite," I say quietly. "If it's available."
"It is." She pulls a folder from her drawer, slides a form acrossthe desk. "You have options. I'll walk you through them, and you can take as long as you need to decide."
