You have arrived.

Take off your shoes.

The ground knows you.

You do not need to speak.

The silence here remembers your voice.

This is not a gallery. Not a shop.

Not a space to scroll through.

This is the room you dreamed before you had a name.

Let the colors hold you.

Let the light speak first.

Everything here was made in a hush,

stitched in prayer,

carried on the back of memory.

And still—nothing is asked of you.

Only this: Let yourself be received.

XO Mitra Solara