A narrow alley bathed in the golden haze of late afternoon. The sun filters through a canopy of overgrown vines, casting soft, dappled shadows onto weathered brick walls. A vintage bicycle leans against a rusted lamppost, its metal frame catching the light in muted glimmers. The air is thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and the faint smokiness of a distant fire. Somewhere, a record player hums a melancholic tune, its crackling notes blending seamlessly with the quiet rustle of leaves. Everything feels suspended, as if time itself is paused, holding its breath for just a moment longer.