The first word is love.
Armaan Franklin takes a deep breath and shakes his head as he lets the memories flood back. He swivels back and forth on a chair inside his room, his eyes darting down at the carpet.
Armaan’s mother India is on his mind. He lets the first thought about her tumble out.
“Just love,” Armaan says smiling.
Then he laughs, realizing it’s fitting. He extends his left arm, giving way to a four-letter tattoo wrapped around his forearm. Over the summer, Armaan and India got matching ink.
“Love,” it reads.