Downstairs right now, clutching my silver water bottle, and somehow this little alley turned into a whole lesson in belonging. Somchai’s scooter won’t ever stop buzzing, and Nuan just plopped his big goofy self against my leg like we’re old friends. Three months here and yeah, I still get this ache for my mom’s ghormeh sabzi and hearing Farsi in the kitchen. But some days, that homesick feeling softens a bit — people here make space for you in these quiet, generous ways. I’ll bring the iced drinks next time. Feels like the perfect thank you for that.

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