Hard drive humming beside me, fan fighting a losing battle, and me clinging to a folder named “FINAL_FINAL_2” like it means I’ve got it together. Called home while things copied over and heard the spoon tapping a pot — that little sound that can undo me from 8,000 miles away. Nasrin jumped straight to the important stuff — did I eat, did yoga help, am I actually drinking water. Then she told me about Reza fixing the cabinet hinge and Arman griping about it, and suddenly I was in that kitchen again, even if I couldn’t smell it. She said she’s proud I’m choosing work that feels like me, not just work that looks good. Carrying that with me tonight. Missing home, but it’s a little softer now.

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