One evening Sara locked the bookshop door and looked toward Alankrita.
"You know something?"
"What?"
"You arrived carrying a storm."
The old woman adjusted her scarf.
"But somehow..."
She looked around the warm little bookstore.
"...you planted a garden instead."
Alankrita looked confused.
Sara smiled.
"The cooks worry if you eat."
"The librarian worries if you study too much."
"The professors worry if you work too hard."
"Your friends worry if you look tired."
"And I worry if Baby Pumpkin doesn't have enough sweaters."
Alankrita laughed softly.
Sara squeezed her hand gently.
"You brought people together, child."
Outside, snow began falling softly over Cambridge.
Inside the little bookshop sat a journalism student, a growing miracle baby, and an old bookseller knitting tiny sweaters beside shelves full of stories.
Alankrita rested her hand over her stomach.
For the first time since leaving India...
home no longer felt like a place she had lost.
Home had followed her across continents.
And somehow...
without realizing it...
she had become home for many people too.