Suri was loud in the best possible way—smiles that arrived early and words that spilled like postcards. They traded travel tips: a secret noodle stall, a book exchange hidden behind a grocery shelf, the best rooftop to feel the city breathe. Ariel was surprised to find herself telling the story of the patched pocket. “Why a compass?” Suri asked, running a thumb over the embroidered needle. “You don’t need directions,” she said. Ariel laughed and admitted that dawn and doubt sometimes felt the same, both asking where she was heading.