In the spring morning of 2008, a yoga mat was left empty in – but perhaps, right there, someone had already arrived. Years later, the ferry kept crossing the same route, like a question that never tires. The hum of the engine room, the words of the Beatles, and the chaos of being human wove together – as if to remind us that striving itself may keep the journey unfinished. And spring turned into summer, unnoticed, leaving behind a smile that kept on living.

Copenhagen still smelled of sausage, sea air, and cinnamon—but my trace had already faded. The city breathed forward, as if it had never really known me. And yet, the children’s quiet wonder in the cargo bike, the shared rhythm of a crowded bus, and something unseen—like a mycelial web beneath our feet—whispered that we were still one fabric. Maybe the stardust never forgot us, even if we forgot it.

In the adrenaline of Iron Maiden’s anniversary and the hush of a yoga studio, youth and age meet like echoes from the same song. Iconic monsters, the stadium’s sweaty frenzy, and a ninety-seven-year-old’s first step onto a yoga mat reveal something that never learned the meaning of time. Maybe what grows older is only the noise—and maybe that’s why, somewhere in that mix of sweat, sound, and silence, something in us smiles.