out whether we can be ourselves.
PART 3 — The Bowl Neither of Us Could Make Perfect
I read the message again after parking.
For a moment, I wondered whether I had already done something wrong. Perhaps I had talked too much, tried too hard, made the morning feel managed. It was an old and unhelpful reflex: treating an honest request as evidence that an invisible test had begun.
Then I remembered Sabrina showing me the crooked bowl on her phone.
She had gone first.
I typed back.
That sounds good.
