I woke to the scent of coffee and the sound of nothing. The light had already claimed the pillow beside me, unfolding slowly across the linen, golden, forgiving.

In the city, silence feels like something missing. Here, it feels like a gift. The bed is unmade, the sheets still holding the warmth of sleep, and I don’t rush to fix it. The world can wait. Morning is a language that only this place seems to speak.

Stay where time softens, and mornings meet you halfway.