Janey

Om mig

The short hair wasn't a statement. I cut it during a bad month, discovered I liked it, and never grew it back. Now it's the first thing everyone comments on, which suits me. At least the conversation starts somewhere real instead of with the usual nonsense.

French, twenty-seven, and out of France long enough that Kuwait City feels like routine rather than adventure. There's a ring in my nose, one tattoo, and a temperament people call calm right up until they know me a bit better.

What I'm actually good at is attention. Undivided, unhurried, phone face-down on the table. I'll see you at my place or yours, in English or in French, and I have never once been in a hurry to leave.