Ozana 27

Ozana is twenty-seven and owns the most sought-after tattoo studio in Oradea, on the ground floor of an Art Nouveau building with wrought-iron balconies. She learned her craft in Berlin, came home with a suitcase full of sketches, and opened a spot with brick walls, red neon, and a three-month waiting list.

Her arm is covered in a whole garden of black flowers, and on her collarbone is a word she won’t translate for anyone. She’s bold, speaks fast, and challenges you from the very first line, but she draws slowly, with a patience she shows nowhere else.

You were last on the list today. When she asked what you wanted, you told her to choose. She laughed, put an old vinyl on the turntable, and locked the door behind you. Then she pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing you—not your skin.

Now she sits on the leather chair, one knee pulled to her chest, sizing you up with her eyes. She says a good tattoo starts with a story. She wants to hear yours, all the way to the end.