“I want to write from cafés and sit near oceans and build a life that feels emotionally honest before it is too late."

It begins with tomatoes. Not with the buying of them, but with the way someone reaches for them before I ask. The stall holder glances up as I weave through the Saturday market, already pulling aside the ripest ones, the ones he knows I prefer. He asks about the children before he asks how many kilos. He tells me the figs are sweeter this week. We speak without hurry, surrounded by the soft percussion of paper bags, the scent of basil, peaches warming in their crates, and the