“I know,” he crows, setting his plate down across from me. It’s stacked with bacon and hash browns and scrambled eggs, which he scoops onto his toast. While everyone else took some time finding their way around the cold meats and porridge sections, I saw him make a beeline for the right counter in the back with the familiarity of someone who frequently eats at five-star hotels. “Hey, no judgment or anything. The food here is pretty great—not Michelin star level, of course, but, like, decent.”

I roll my eyes, but I honestly don’t care if he is judging. I’m too eager to sink my teeth into everything: the sautéed beans with minced beef; the silky tofu pudding piled with chili and coriander and chopped mushrooms; the blueberry pastries; the slices of scallion pancakes; the fried pork buns sprinkled with sesame and wobbling soup dumplings.

Back when I was traveling for my modeling gigs, I was always too scared to eat what I wanted. At breakfast, I would spend ages eyeing the cinnamon swirls and crisp strips of bacon, my mouth watering, and then settle for a few cubes of watermelon.

It was strange, because nobody had ever explicitly told me that I needed to watch my diet. But so much of the pressure I felt was silent, unspoken, like being trapped inside a submarine thousands of miles underwater and feeling the oxygen slowly run out. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was—how hunger had become my usual state—until the day after I parted ways with my modeling agency, when I walked to the closest In-N-Out and wolfed down two whole cheeseburgers. That was one of the most immediate, tangible joys of quitting modeling: the realization that food wasn’t meant to be an enemy or a rare treat or some kind of twisted test. And with every full meal I’ve had since, I can feel my body replenishing itself. My hair is so much shinier, and walking long distances is so much easier, and now, at a buffet like this, I don’t have to think about anything except how rich the food tastes.

“So. How’s your first night with the roommate?” Oliver asks, already moving on to his second slice of toast. “You’re with Daisy, right? She’s pretty quiet, isn’t she? I was, like, kind of concerned she just wasn’t going to talk to me at all, but she’s actually been chill. She even helped take photos of me yesterday—but you should’ve seen her face when I started singing on our way back to the hotel. She literally turned red and ducked behind a wall because a few people were staring at me in admiration …”