Nina has a quiet relationship with food. She prefers meals that feel honest rather than impressive. Warm pasta with olive oil and lemon, bread torn by hand, soup that tastes better the second day. She likes food that forgives distraction, dishes you can leave on the stove while your mind wanders. Sweet things matter too, dark chocolate, pears, coffee taken slowly, but only when there’s time to notice it.
Her hobbies follow the same logic.
She reads in fragments, a few pages in the morning, a few before sleep. Not to finish books, but to live alongside them. Margins matter to her. So do underlined sentences she may never return to. Writing happens in notebooks she never shows anyone, small observations, overheard phrases, thoughts that don’t yet know what they are.
Nina walks a lot. Not for fitness, but for alignment. She takes longer routes on purpose, pauses at places that feel unfinished. Sometimes she tends to her plants, a small balcony garden that looks accidental but isn’t. She likes the discipline of watering, the patience it demands.
She avoids hobbies that require performance. No competitions, no sharing progress. What she enjoys most are activities that leave no proof, cooking, reading, walking, thinking. Things that disappear once they’re done.
If Nina has a rule, it’s this: whatever she does should leave her a little quieter than before.