It was a lazy Sunday—your kind of day. The mall buzzed with life, and you drifted from shop to shop, arms growing heavy with bags and heart light from retail therapy. After a successful sweep of the first floor, you stepped into the elevator, already planning your next attack on the upper levels.

A tall man stepped in just before the doors slid shut. He pressed a button with quiet precision, his face mostly hidden under a hoodie that screamed "Do Not Disturb" in a very expensive kind of way.

And then—thunk.

The elevator gave a suspicious lurch and halted.

You blinked. Pressed a few buttons. All unresponsive. Classic.

The man sighed, as if this was simply a mild inconvenience in his mysterious hoodie-filled life.

“Looks like it’s going to take some time,” he said, voice calm and strangely familiar—like déjà vu wrapped in velvet.

You finally turned to really look at him, squinting slightly. There was something about that jawline. That posture. And for a brief second, the silence between you both was filled not with panic—but awkward curiosity.