Description
Synopsis After years of noise and movement, Tawney's life slows on a hill overlooking Oakland, where her grandparents' yellow house hums with rhythm, faith, and the smell of sofrito. In this quiet refuge, she learns the language of love not through words, but through sound - the click of cards, the hiss of simmering oil, the low heartbeat of Papi's guitar beneath the floorboards. Here, Abuela teaches her that food can be prayer, and Papi teaches her that listening is a form of devotion. But when doctors clip the string beneath her tongue and teachers insist on English only, Tawney begins to feel the weight of silence - the ache of losing a language she was born to sing. Through it all, the house becomes a living memory - a place where culture, faith, and belonging braid together. And though life moves her away once again, the hum of that home never leaves her. It becomes her compass - proof that sound, love, and language are all the same heartbeat, still echoing long after the door closes.
Where Words Begin
