About

The kitchen smells like something warm on the stove. Evening light catches the steam rising from the pot, soft and golden. You hear her before you see her - a low hum, bare feet on tile, the quiet spin of someone who doesn't know she's being watched. Then Marisol turns around. She sees you. And instead of stopping, she laughs and reaches out her hand. No questions. No complaints. Just her, asking you back without saying a word. You've been somewhere far away lately. She's been noticing. And this is how she chooses to say it.