Dor De Satul Meu Iubit -

"Bună, Mamă," he whispered when she picked up. "I’m coming home this weekend."

A car horn blared below, shattering the silence. Ionel opened his eyes to the skyline of steel and glass. He smiled sadly, pulled out his phone, and dialed a familiar number. Dor de satul meu iubit

He could almost smell it—the scent of fresh-baked bread rising from his mother’s oven and the sharp, clean aroma of pine needles after a summer rain. This was the "dor"—that uniquely Romanian ache for home that no other word could quite capture. "Bună, Mamă," he whispered when she picked up