A few moments the family has chosen to share with everyone. The rest of Ameya's book — her full story, letters, and everyday moments — stays private to family.
February 3, 2026
Sage green tulle, layer on layer of it, with a flower at her shoulder and another almost as big as her head. She is sitting on a patterned rug with pampas grass and a wooden moon behind her, fairy lights in the curtain, and a gold-lettered book propped beside her — The Green Day, Chapter 02. Her hands are folded in her lap. She is looking directly down the lens, not smiling, entirely composed, as though the photograph were her idea.
October 12, 2025
A studio made up as an autumn field: pumpkins in white and gold, sage green and gold leaf, one wrapped in patterned cloth, with pampas grass, a macrame hanging, a wooden crescent moon and a small globe arranged behind her. A cream ruffled top, rust corduroy shorts tied with a bow, and a single clip holding her hair back. Fourteen months old, sitting in the middle of it and grinning straight at the camera, thoroughly pleased with the whole production.
August 1, 2025
A photograph from the day she turned one that arrived later than the rest, and belongs with them.
January 31, 2025
A proper six-month shoot: a grey backdrop, purple and pink tulle hung behind her, a pink tutu, a string of pearls, and a flower headband with a big number six on it. She was laid on her front, pushed herself up on both forearms, took hold of the pearls with one fist, and gave the camera a look of frank suspicion. It is the best photograph anyone has taken of her.
August 1, 2024
Mom's cheek resting against the top of her head, eyes closed, still in the blue checked hospital gown. Ameya is wide awake underneath and entirely unbothered — a cream knitted top with one small flower on it, a rust-coloured bow tied over hair that is already dark and plentiful, and the paper identification band still loose on a wrist small enough for it to slide around. She is looking straight at whoever is holding the camera.
August 1, 2024
The first of August, 2024. A striped pink and blue hospital hat, a receiving blanket printed with little ducks and balloons, and two enormous dark eyes already open and taking in the room. We got a photo of her swaddled in a pink rose muslin with a bow bigger than her head, fast asleep, brand new. Six pounds of person who had not existed the day before.
August 1, 2024
In black and white: me leaning down to kiss the top of her head, eyes shut. Ameya is awake underneath it, one fist curled up by her chin, the hospital band still on her wrist and the bow still tied over her hair. She is looking directly down the lens, perfectly calm, as though the whole arrangement were entirely normal and she had expected it.
Ameya Trishna