my dragon, had not only shown me the power

my dragon, had not only shown me the power of her own strength, she had instilled within me the courage to face my own challenges. She had shown me that even in the face of loss and despair, there was the potential for growth, for resilience, for the blossoming of something beautiful.

Years later, as I stand on the threshold of a new adventure, the lessons of my dragon echo in my heart. I carry her spirit with me, a reminder that the strength I seek isn't something found outside, but a fire already burning within. And when the world seems too big and the challenges too daunting ,My grandmother, Lakshmi, wasn't your typical dragon. No fiery breath or earth-shattering roars emanated from her. Instead, she wielded the quiet strength of a mountain, her love a steady, warm fire, and her determination a force that could weather any storm.

My earliest memory is of her lap, a haven of worn cotton sarees and the rhythmic click of her knitting needles. The stories she weaved with yarn mirrored the fantastical tales she narrated, dragons soaring through tapestries and princesses emerging from shimmering silks. These weren't bedtime stories; they were lessons in courage, resilience, and the unyielding power of the human spirit.

Life wasn't always kind. My parents, caught in the tide of political unrest, were forced to leave me with Lakshmi when I was just a child. The news was filled with fear, the streets echoing with the cries of protest. But in her tiny, two-room apartment, a sanctuary bloomed. Lakshmi shielded me from the outside world, her love a fortress against the shadows.

Lakshmi, unlike most grandmothers, didn't coddle. Her hands, gnarled by years of toil, taught me the art of cooking, her voice, seasoned with wisdom, guiding my clumsy steps through life's lessons. She instilled in me the importance of education, urging me to devour books with the same fervor she used to knit.

One day, a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor. It was a picture of my parents, faces etched with worry, their eyes searching for something beyond the camera’s reach. My heart ached, a yearning to be with them gnawing at me. Seeing my tears, Lakshmi didn't try to sugarcoat the reality. Instead, she spoke of hope, her voice a gentle brook washing away the despair. She told me stories of the resilient phoenix, rising from the ashes, its journey mirroring ours.

Years passed, filled with stolen moments with my parents, their visits fueled by flickering hope. Lakshmi never complained, her love an unwavering constant. The day they were finally able to bring me home, a bittersweet symphony played in my heart. Leaving Lakshmi was like leaving a limb, but her parting words stayed with me: "The dragon you seek may not be beside you, but her fire burns within you."

Years later, as I stood on the brink of a decision that would change my life, the fire within me flickered. Doubt threatened to extinguish it. Then, I remembered Lakshmi, her unwavering gaze, the strength in her wrinkled hands. And in that moment, I saw the dragon beside me, not as a mythical creature, but as the reflection of my own resilience, forged by her love and wisdom.

The path ahead wasn't smooth. Challenges arose, doubts whispered their siren song. But every time I stumbled, Lakshmi's voice echoed in my mind, a gentle reminder of the dragon within. It wasn't always about fiery explosions or grand displays of power; it was about the quiet strength that allowed me to rise, dust myself off, and keep moving forward.

Today, as I navigate the complexities of life, the dragon beside me is not just Lakshmi's memory. It's the fire she ignited in me, the unwavering belief she instilled, and the love that continues to warm my heart. And though the world may never see a dragon soaring through the sky, it witnesses its magic in the quiet strength of those who carry its flame.