নামঃ Inaaya Abdullah

গল্পঃ My Mommy, My First Bank My mother never taught me finance with figures — she taught me with hunger, with half-lit rooms, with hands that stitched strength out of scarcity. She worked in a museum of old currencies, dust-covered coins and faded notes — the skeletons of fallen empires. But at home, she curated a different kind of wealth: measured in patience, in scraped pots, in swallowed pride. She bartered dreams for tuition. Skipped joy like skipped meals. “Money isn’t saved,” she’d murmur, “it’s re-routed — to futures, to children, to whatever’s next.” I watched her invest in me, not like a gamble, but like a truth. Her marriage? A fixed deposit, locked away, yielding quiet endurance. My grandmother pawned her wedding bangles. My mother pawned her twenties. And now, when I budget, I hear their echoes. Wealth, they taught me, isn’t what fills your wallet — it’s what fills your name with meaning. I am not just her child. I am her return on love.