Today I made my signature lemonade again. In fact, there is no secret: just lemon, mint, ice and sparkling water. But I like to call it signature - as if I have a small cafe inside my kitchen.

I poured lemonade into a tall glass, threw in a few ice cubes and sat down on the balcony. It's thirty-two degrees outside. I'm wearing old shorts and a T-shirt that I shyly wear only at home.

The ice crackles, melts, leaves wet rings on the table. I watch the drops slowly run down the glass, and think: sometimes it's much hotter inside us than outside.

On days like these, I want to sit closer to the window, turn off the phone and just listen to what the heat whispers. What am I dreaming about at this moment? About the cool sea. About someone stretching out next to me and breathing just as slowly. About not being able to rush – at least for one evening.

I used to be afraid of the heat. It seemed to suck the strength out of me. And now I think that the heat is a test. Can you tolerate your own thoughts when the asphalt is melting around you?

The ice in the glass has almost melted, but I still drink in small sips. Let it melt, let it all flow – but I am not in a hurry. I like this moment – ​​when the warmth outside meets the heat inside.