The weekend dusk feels especially gentle. The last sliver of sunset slants through the blinds, casting warm golden piano keys on the wooden floor. I walk barefoot over them, each step like pressing a silent note.

The air carries the scent of a baked oven, the sweet caramelized aroma of roasted sweet potatoes. The sound of a piano drifts over from a neighbor’s house, intermittent, playing "Für Elise." I nestle into the soft cushion of the sofa, knees pressed to my chest—this posture has stayed with me since childhood, like a ritual for the weekend.

Night falls from outside the window, first a grayish blue, gradually turning into ink. The distant city lights flicker on one by one, sparse, as if someone casually sprinkled a handful of shattered diamonds. I spread myself completely, letting exhaustion evaporate from my pores, drifting away in the evening breeze carrying the scent of sweet potatoes. In this moment, there is no tomorrow, only the lights outside the window and the tide slowly rising within my body. #2026行情预测