Chapter 169

• The first night back in my own bed felt heavier than I expected. It was not from the travel itself but from the shift in pace. Kyoto had been deliberate in its rhythm, each day shaped by the work and the quiet in between. Here, the hours felt more crowded even before they had begun.
• Julian cooked something simple — pasta, roasted vegetables, a salad we put together at the table. The kitchen window was open, and the night air came in cool. It carried the sound of someone’s music from across the street, faint enough that I could only catch the rise and fall of a melody.
• “When do you plan to show the Kyoto pieces?” he asked, passing me a plate.