I specialize in immersive, emotionally driven storytelling

His door opened, and the house spoke first. Nkosi Fantasia came on automatically. The sandalwood was already everywhere, settled, warm, the incense long burnt out. She slipped her heels off without being asked. She felt the cream-knitted throw before she decided to touch it. Folded it. Placed it on the wooden table. Her fingers didn't want to leave. The kitchen pulled her next. Marble counter. Coffee brown cabinets. His colour code, white, cream, beige, and brown, is running through everything, even the organizer plates. Ground coffee. Granola. Protein powder. All decanted. All intentional. She moved the matte white crock from the sink to the spices without asking. "That's where it belongs." Her hand traced the marble counter one last time. "I can see myself here."