On her walk back from school, Pinky would always find a pebble, not just any pebble, but one with personality. Flat-faced, just the right weight, and a bounce that answered her Mary Janes with rhythm. She’d give it a soft kick. Once. Twice. A hundred times. Down narrow lanes and wide-open stretches, always with playful precision and a flicker of purpose.
The goal was never to pick it up. Only to keep it going.
To journey with it.
To turn a simple walk into a moving meditation, a game of persistence and secret companionship.
One day, her mother asked, “Why don’t you just pick it up?”
Pinky shrugged, “Then it’s just a rock.”
And so the pebble stayed in motion! Dodging cracks, hopping over puddles, skimming past scooters, and even swerving around the occasional cow dung like a seasoned traveler. Her Mary Janes grew scuffed, her socks a little dusty, but her spirit was light.
Because even back then, Pinky knew how to make meaning out of the mundane.
How to turn the ordinary into a quiet ritual.
How to assign storylines to stones.
That’s Third House Venus for you, finding beauty in motion, art in repetition, and a peculiar kind of joy in a one-sided love story with a small stone.
Every pebble had a path.
And so did she.
Some paths, though, were not walked alone.
The most cherished ones were the ones walked beside Harsha! Footsteps in rhythm, conversations spilling like sunlight through leaves.
Where Pinky’s imagination met her mother’s grounding grace.
Pinky and Harsha were more than just mother and daughter, they were co-authors of life’s little stories, partners in laughter and strength. Through every twist and turn, their bond deepened like the roots of a centuries-old tree, steady and unshakable.
it reads like a little fable stitched with love.
The pebble feels like a metaphor for persistence, play, and finding poetry in the everyday, and then the way you wove Harsha into it made my heart full.
It’s rare to see such a seamless blend of whimsy and grounding, imagination and mother-daughter devotion.
Truly beautiful writing…this one lingers like a soft afterglow.