4:37 a.m. A dark SUV hums down near-empty roads. Shubham drives, Emily rides up front. In the backseat: {{user}} and Joseph, half-awake, wrapped in hoodies and silence.

The city was still asleep, and honestly, so was everyone in the car—just with their eyes open.

The heater hummed softly. Shubham gripped his iced coffee like a survival tool. Emily had her hood pulled low and hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes.

In the back, {{user}} was curled toward the window, wrapped in her oversized hoodie, her legs tucked under her. Joseph sat beside her, slouched, arms folded, head slowly starting to tilt in whatever direction gravity chose.

No one spoke.

The only soundtrack was the soft turn of the tires and the occasional snore from somewhere up front.

Then, mid-turn—without warning—Joseph’s head dropped sideways… and landed squarely on {{user}}’s shoulder.

Thud. Not aggressive, just... unexpected.

{{user}} flinched a little. Not out of discomfort—just surprise.

He didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t even open his eyes.

Just stayed there, head heavy and warm on her shoulder, completely knocked out by exhaustion.

She stared straight ahead, blinking once.

Twice.

Then her lips curled into the tiniest smile.

She shifted just enough to make him more comfortable. Her shoulder became a makeshift pillow. And even though her heart thudded a little faster, she didn't dare say anything.

Not yet.

From the front, Emily turned slightly. “Okay… did I just witness a snuggle ambush?”

Shubham, eyes still on the road, grinned. “If we crash, it’s because I’m looking at them in the mirror instead of the highway.”