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It’s the kind of Tuesday morning where the sunshine drips through your window like honey, and something in the air just feels a little... charged. ...

It was one of those slow, hazy afternoons when you might have noticed a subtle shift in the usual scroll—something about Ernesta Guevara

There’s a certain hush that falls over a late afternoon—just before the sun melts into golden hour and the world feels a little softer. That’s when...