On a rainy afternoon many years ago, I watched my grandmother by the window, lost in a book she had read countless times. Between the worn pages, a simple silver slip peeked out — her bookmark. It wasn’t much to look at, just a thin piece of metal, etched with faint floral patterns. But to her, it was more than a placeholder. It was a companion that had travelled through stories, underlined moments of pause, and held the space for her imagination to return.
The Gift That Turned Pages Into Memories
