Letter #1 - Flowers Sacrificed for Fragrance

Before the sun was even up over Aït Melloul, my grandmother's hands were already moving through the orange blossom branches, picking flowers that would be wilted by noon. I didn't understand yet why something so beautiful had to be picked at its most fragile moment — why the blossom had to die for its scent to live on. This letter is about that dawn harvest, and the first lesson I ever learned about what beauty actually costs. What's tucked inside this month's envelope stays a surprise until it's in your hands.