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It’s late. The city hums behind you like a distant regret. You’ve been driving with the top down, the air sharp against your skin, a fight still echoing in your chest. But now… none of that matters. You’re here. With me. My video plays like a memory you can’t quite place—lit in the night, all deep blues and greens, like neon pouring into midnight. The kind of color that wraps around your bones and makes you forget where you were going. You don’t know my story, and maybe you don’t need to. What matters is this moment. This rhythm. The way I move—slow, deliberate—like I already know what you crave. You came here to forget something. Maybe someone. All you’ll remember is the scent of rose oil from India, clinging to me like heat… and the way I smiled like I’ve seen your soul.