An old woman sits with a thick cigar resting between her lips, unlit yet full of meaning. Her face, weathered and wise, wears every wrinkle like a badge of survival. She doesn’t speak—she doesn’t need to. Her eyes do the talking: fierce, sharp, unafraid. The cigar becomes part of her presence, a quiet symbol of power, resilience, and rebellion. She is the kind of woman time couldn’t break.
