Dear reader,
I write about the messy middle of love: the doubt, the almost-leaving, and all the things we don’t say.
I grew up in Beirut in a house full of music. My mom sang opera and my dad always had the classics playing. I wrote my first songs as a teenager, and they felt like letters I didn’t know how to send. I’m still writing those letters. They’ve just gotten braver about what they say.







