I moved away from Barcelona years ago and built a whole new life in New York. I thought I was done with the past, but when I finally went back it hit me harder than I expected. Walking through certain streets, it felt like the younger version of me was still there. Like the city had been holding on to things I tried to forget. It made me think do places really keep a part of us, or do we just project that onto them? I couldn’t shake the feeling, so I ended up writing it all out in a story I called From A to R. It’s basically me trying to make sense of memory, desire, and the stuff we bury until it comes back.