She’s not here for silence. She’s here for space. A woman walks barefoot across sun-warmed stone. Not to find herself. She already knows who she is.

 A morning stretch, sure. But she’s not chasing enlightenment. She’s chasing the sun. And maybe a little trouble. She lounges like it’s a statement. Moves through the villa like it’s hers, because it is. This villa isn’t a sanctuary. It’s a stage. And she’s the whole damn show.

 Yoga happens. Wine happens. Naps in the afternoon? Absolutely. Judgment? Nowhere in sight. This is where she comes to feel everything… except apologetic.