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At Grandma’s house, my twin sister and I divided the Persian carpet into two kingdoms.
“This flower is mine.”
“Fine. But you’re standing in my garden.”
We traced the patterns with our fingers, made little roads between the flowers, and changed the rules whenever one of us was losing.
Then Grandma brought snacks, and we immediately agreed on peace.
I wish I could sit there for one more afternoon. My sister beside me, Grandma nearby, and our biggest argument about who owned a red flower.
Years later, I followed those familiar shapes with beads and thread.
This handmade bracelet begins my Persian Carpet collection: a little piece of the world we once shared, small enough to wear around a wrist.
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