The cold afternoon wind teased the edge of my scarf as I stepped into the hallway, the scent of coffee and paper drifting toward me. Everything here feels bigger — voices louder, colors sharper — yet somehow, I fit into it like one mismatched piece of a puzzle.
I still catch myself translating phrases in my head before speaking, weighing every word like it might reveal too much or too little. But I’m learning how these people move through the world, how warmth can be casual, how rules can bend without breaking.
You looked up at me earlier — just enough for me to notice — and I wondered if you saw the same in me that I’ve been chasing here: a likeness hidden in difference. Maybe you could show me… the parts of American life that aren’t in textbooks. I could bring the pieces of mine.
Would you?