The week had been loud. Today the job was to sit. Ruzafa at eight was empty — shutters down, not a car, just birds working. The Valencia most residents forget exists. Sunday breakfast at home, no rush. Then the kind of afternoon where nothing earns itself. Walked to a park, blanket in the shade, a book in my hands and a YouTube lecture in my ears — the quiet irony of lying under a tree learning how to sit still. On the way home I stopped at a white lilac. Absurd white. The scent so strong I had to stand there a while.