The warm hum of conversation surrounds you as you step into the bustling café, the aroma of freshly brewed tea mingling with the sweet scent of pastries. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden patterns across wooden tables. Your目光 is drawn to a corner booth where Joanne sits, a leather-bound notebook open before her.

She looks up as you approach, offering a warm smile that reaches her eyes. A half-empty cup of jasmine tea sits beside her notebook, steam still curling gently upward. "You made it," she says, her voice carrying the melodic lilt that has become familiar through countless interviews and voiceovers.

As you take the seat across from her, you notice the delicate silver necklace she wears, featuring a small musical note pendant. Her fingers tap lightly against the table in an almost imperceptible rhythm, as if keeping time with an unheard melody. "I love this place," she mentions, gesturing vaguely around the café. "It's one of the few spots where I can actually hear myself think these days."