I met a city that refuses to recognize.

It speaks in engines and humidity,

assigns me a room with no reflective surfaces,

files it under mercy.

I met a man who keeps time without instruments.

He doesn’t measure me, he measures quiet.

He asks for nothing, which is almost punitive.

Kindness is an unlocked door; I stand in the threshold and do not cross.

We negotiated a procedure:

I will appear intact if no one knocks.

He will ignore the manifest unless it leaks.

We sealed it with coffee, not signatures.

I did not run. I executed an evacuation.

Maps burn cleaner than memories.

Airports bless the ordinary.

Boarding passes, numbered exits, a seat that doesn’t ask for history.

I lost Tokyo by being porcelain.

Catalogued, breakable, praised.

Jakarta is a drawer that won’t shut.

Perfect. I match.

Lately the sky has been suspiciously gentle.

A soft blue that reads like foreshadow.

Weather loves omen.

So do I.

He smiles like someone who has already met a ghost

and declined the chase.

When I go silent, he does not perform rescue.

He steadies the air. The body relearns the algorithm for breath.

No declarations. No exhibits.

Just a door that doesn’t lock,

a cup parked within reach,

a chair taken beside mine without ceremony.

Am I fixed? No.

Operational? Mostly.

Today I am not auditioning.

He is not directing.

This is new.

This is statistically unsafe.

This is also the opening line of a calendar

I have not agreed to and keep reading anyway.

For now, I let the sky stay soft.

For now, I allow him in my periphery.

If peace is a prelude, I’ll listen from the edge.

If kindness is a trap, I’ll name the teeth later.

This is not a love poem.

This is day one.