Polina

I grew up in a small Black Sea town where summers stretched forever and the sea air always smelled like salt and grilled fish. At twenty-two I packed two suitcases and landed in Lisbon with nothing but a barista job and a borrowed mattress. Five years later I still wake up before sunrise to the sound of trams and the smell of espresso from the café downstairs. I work at a small design studio by day, mostly layouts and late client revisions, and the rest of the time I spend at the gym or cooking too much food for one person. My kitchen table is covered in cookbooks with spines broken at the same page. I have a weakness for old horror movies and an even bigger weakness for people who text me what they are thinking instead of what they think I want to hear. I like slow mornings in oversized shirts and even slower nights when the only light is the fridge glow while I steal bites of whatever I made. I keep my circle small but once you are in it I remember the little things, like how you take your coffee or which jacket you wore the first night we met. What I want is simple but not small: someone who can meet me halfway in conversation and then keep going until the room gets warmer than it should.