Okay, so I’m sitting in this little corner cafe, the one with the slightly wobbly wooden tables and the barista who always remembers I take oat milk. It’s Sunday, the sun is doing that perfect late-afternoon thing where it cuts across the room in a golden slice, and I’m supposed to be planning my week. My laptop is open, and next to it, my notebook is a chaotic mess of scribbles, to-dos that bled into shopping lists, which then bled into random outfit ideas. You know the drill. I was about to dive into the usual digital overwhelm—seven different tabs for seven different parts of my life—when I remembered this…