"The city felt overwhelming at first, all narrow streets and layered noise, scents dense enough to get lost in. He navigated calmly, as if he’d grown up here, slipping between market stalls piled high with unfamiliar spices. At a food stand, he pointed at tiny peppers, nodding at my hesitation. The taste was sharp and numbing, a tingling, compelling sensation spreading across my tongue. He watched me, quietly pleased when I reached for another. Later, in a small, crowded restaurant, we ate dishes as they arrived, flavors bright and demanding. Around us, conversations blended softly. I watched him, aware of how simply he adapted, how easily he belonged. Knowing it was something I could only admire, never quite follow."
