Kanya gave me pineapple before I could even fake not being tired, and honestly, it felt like a little blessing. I went out for mangoes, limes, and basil—but came back with a tiny bit more calm than I left with. Three months in Bangkok and I still get hit with homesickness in the textures: herbs in my hands, someone getting my order like they know me, the memory of mom’s ghormeh sabzi and Farsi drifting from the kitchen. Not fixed, just barely held together by a plastic bag and the fruit stall down the street.

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