She remembered the evenings in her grandparents’ courtyard, when television was an event. Neighbors gathered on charpoys, the air thick with the scent of cumin and jasmine. There had been laughter, gasps, and the occasional well-timed sigh. The characters—so young, so burdened—felt like kin. They taught her words for feelings she’d had but not named. Watching them again felt less like nostalgia and more like returning to a teacher who had once shown her how to read the world.