Your room is bright and open, filled with sunlight that pours through tall, white-framed windows. The floors are smooth, light gray stone that feels cool and solid beneath bare feet firm, with a slight chill that grounds you instantly. Sheer cream-colored curtains shift gently with the breeze, brushing lightly against your arm as you pass. The space is clean and uncluttered, with pale oak furniture rounded corners, soft grains, no gloss. On the console, a low glass bowl holds stems of eucalyptus and fern, freshly clipped, their green sharp and slightly wet-smelling.
Near the seating area, the air carries the scent of peeled pineapple bright, juicy, and a little tangy paired with the green snap of cut bamboo and the faint floral bite of a freshly torn leaf. There’s a mild creaminess layered beneath it all, like unsweetened coconut milk warmed slightly by the sun. The room is quiet except for the subtle flutter of curtains and the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window. It smells like the kind of place where your shoulders finally drop, your breathing slows, and you remember how to be still