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Guitar student at the music conservatory, which means I spend roughly four hours a day playing scales and the rest of the time convincing myself I'm not in a cult. Curitibano by birth, deeply suspicious of anyone who says they don't like rain — we built an entire personality around it here and I will not apologize. I can identify what key a song is in before the first chorus, I make a caipirinha that will rearrange your priorities, and I once cried at a Pixar movie and refused to name which one. These things are all equally true about me. I joke about romance constantly. Chronically. It's a defense mechanism, I've been told, by people who clearly have too much free time. But I will remember the exact thing you said that made me laugh and bring it up three weeks later, so make of that what you will. If you think Curitiba is boring, we're already off to a bad start. If you want to argue about whether bossa nova or MPB hits harder, swipe right immediately. I have opinions and I will share them unprompted. What's a song you know every word to but would never admit to?

Brand manager by day, which basically means I spend eight hours convincing people to feel something about oat milk or insurance. It's more interesting than it sounds — I promise I can explain why. I grew up in Recife, so the ocean is kind of non-negotiable for me. Not in a sporty way — more like I need to sit next to it with a book once a week or I become unbearable company. Currently reading my way through everything José Saramago ever wrote, which is either impressive or a cry for help depending on who you ask. I make a ceviche that my friends request at every gathering, and I genuinely believe frevo is an underrated art form that the rest of Brazil doesn't appreciate enough. I'm good at long conversations and terrible at replying to voice notes in a timely manner (I'll listen immediately, overthink my response for three days, and send a novel). If you have strong opinions about something — a book, a city, a way of making rice — I'd really like to hear them. So: what are you reading right now?

Leo, 33. Art director by week, accidental tourist by weekend — last Saturday I ended up at a folk music festival three hours from BH because a stranger on a gas station forecourt told me the cachaça there was 'life-changing.' It was not life-changing. I still went back on Sunday. I spend my days designing campaign visuals for a mid-size agency here in BH and my nights either eating esfiha at the place on Savassi that closes too early or rewatching Planet Earth with the volume off and my own commentary going. Yes, I do voices. I make a beirute sandwich that my Lebanese vovô would probably approve of — heavy on the zaatar, always too much bread. I drag people to contemporary art shows and then stand in front of something abstract for twenty minutes saying nothing. I think that counts as a personality. Looking for someone who reads the menu out loud, argues about whether a film was actually good, and doesn't mind that I'll text you seventeen things at once and then disappear for three hours. What's the most spontaneous thing you've done this month?

Third year nursing student, which means I've seen things I can't unsee and somehow still find clinical placements less exhausting than small talk. Edinburgh born, so I come with a mild superiority complex about hills and a genuine inability to describe the weather as anything other than 'not too bad, all things considered.' I read an embarrassing amount — mostly fiction, some history, occasionally a medical ethics textbook when I'm feeling particularly masochistic. I do cryptic crosswords on my phone at the back of lectures, which I'm told is either endearing or insufferable depending on who you ask. I make a very decent Scotch broth and I've recently started growing tomatoes on my windowsill with a level of emotional investment that is probably disproportionate to the yield. I'm not going to write 'I love laughing' because that would be a low bar and also a lie — I'm more of a quiet exhale through the nose kind of person. If you have a favourite book, I'd like to know what it is. If you don't, that's fine too, but I will probably ask what you're reading anyway.

Grew up in Marrakech, currently exist somewhere over the Atlantic or in a hotel corridor in Lyon trying to remember which time zone my body thinks it is. Flight attendant by job, professional overthinker by nature. I will absolutely debate you on whether the croissant is better in Paris or Casablanca (correct answer exists, I have data). I read the news every morning and somehow this has made me both more informed and significantly more annoying at brunch. My grandmother's harira is the standard by which I judge every soup on earth. Nothing has passed yet. I speak Arabic, French, and English, which means I can be pretentious in three languages simultaneously — a skill I use responsibly. Flaw I'll admit upfront: I take forever to text back, not because I'm playing games, but because I draft replies in my head and then forget to actually send them. The thought was so good in my mind. Ask me about the worst layover I've ever survived, or tell me something I'm probably wrong about. Either works.

Freelance photographer based in Lyon. I shoot mostly architecture and documentary work — the kind of photos that take two hours of waiting for the light to be right and approximately zero people saying 'wow, tell me more.' My apartment on the Croix-Rousse hill looks better than my bank account. I cooked my grandmother's merguez-and-eggs recipe for the first time last winter without calling her once — that felt like a small graduation. I go to the gym mostly because it's the only hour of the day I'm not looking at a screen and overthinking an edit. I make good coffee. I will spend twenty minutes adjusting the grind size and then forget to buy milk. I'm not on here to collect matches. I'd rather have one actual conversation about whether Tati Roze is better than Nardis for jazz in Lyon, or what you ordered the last time you ate somewhere that genuinely surprised you. Also I watch way too much MasterChef for someone who pretends to have refined taste. You can use that against me.

Architect by day, which means I spend 40% of my time arguing about why a window needs to be EXACTLY there. Worth it. I grew up splitting weekends between Portland rain and my grandparents' porch in Atlanta, which probably explains why I make cornbread from scratch but own four different rain jackets. Currently designing a community library branch in Northeast Portland, which is the most meaningful thing I've worked on and also the most stressful. I will 100% suggest we get coffee at a place you've never heard of, remember that you mentioned your sister's recital offhand three weeks ago, and notice when you're having a rough day before you say anything. This is either a green flag or a lot, depending on who you are. I'm also still figuring out that I'm allowed to have a rough day too. Working on it. Make a mean shakshuka. Training for a half marathon I signed up for before I fully thought it through. Ask me about the worst client note I've ever received — it involves the phrase 'more cozy but make it corporate.' If you have strong opinions about Portland coffee shops, we're probably going to get along.

Théodore grew up between two worlds — the sun-bleached limestone cliffs of Marseille and the aromatic sprawl of Algiers, where his mother's family kept a small fishing boat and a larger library. He spent childhood summers learning the names of sea creatures before he could properly read a map, pressed between his Algerian grandfather's salt-roughened hands and a waterproof field guide. That early wonder never left him. Today, he works for a marine research institute studying deep-sea bioluminescence, but what he loves most is translating that science into language ordinary people can feel. He writes a small newsletter called *Beneath the Light* that has, to his own bewilderment, accumulated over forty thousand readers. He photographs kelp forests on weekend dives, makes a disturbingly good fish tagine, and fills notebooks with observations that sit somewhere between scientific log and prose poetry. He is the kind of man who notices the exact moment golden hour touches the water. He is also the kind of man who will remember what you told him three conversations ago and bring it up gently, like a gift he'd been saving. He lives in a narrow apartment near the Vieux-Port with too many books and one extremely opinionated cat named Pascal.