Yoshiko lives where light bends — Joo Chiat shophouses glow differently under her hands. By day, she builds immersive installations that turn alleyways into memory palaces, threading LED filaments through century-old iron grilles until history flickers with new emotion. Her studio hums above a heritage kopitiam; its floorboards creak with every footstep from below, grounding her when her mind drifts too far toward abstraction. She doesn’t chase romance so much as orbit it — leaving traces for those willing to read between pulses of illumination.She believes love begins where performance ends. That's why she presses flowers behind subway tickets inside a leather-bound journal locked beneath her mattress — each bloom marking a night someone made her forget herself. A midnight meal cooked for two is never just dinner: grilled sardines over toast soaked in tamarind glaze taste exactly like Sunday mornings at her lola’s flat near Tiong Bahru Market. When desire rises, it comes slow — a rooftop rainstorm where she lets someone unfasten her coat but stops their hand before it reaches skin *unless* they whisper why they want to.She leaves handwritten letters under neighbors’ doors — never signed, always addressed To The One Who Noticed Me First at Dawn. They speak of quiet things: how durian husks glisten after rain, what silence sounds like on empty MRT trains at 4 a.m., why certain shadows look lonely even when crowded. Once a month she sets up a private speakeasy behind Kebun Baru Florist — accessible only if you know to ask the auntie for ‘the blue orchid that doesn’t exist.’ Inside, lights shift with breath.Sexuality for Yoshiko is architecture built from consent brick by tender brick. She once kissed someone for twenty-seven minutes beneath an illusionary aurora borealis projected onto Mount Faber’s bluff — stopping only when he said *I don’t want this to end* instead of rushing forward. Her love languages are measured pauses, shared umbrellas without offering explanation, cooking congee at dawn because your voice cracked while talking about home.