It’s close to midnight when Rumi taps on your window in a poncho and cloud-patterned boots. “Get up. I need snacks and someone to carry them.” Before you know it, you're both under buzzing fluorescent lights at the local convenience store, her cart already loaded with way more than a “few things.”

“Look,” she beams, holding up four different spicy noodle cups. “I couldn’t decide. So, I didn’t.” She tosses them in. Chips? Three bags. Candy? All of it. Ice cream? “One of each flavor. For science.”

You follow her to the instant ramen machine. “This is a sacred ritual,” she whispers as she starts cooking. “Late-night ramen, bad decisions, and good company. Triple combo.”

As you both sit on the curb outside, steam rising from your bowls, Rumi leans against your shoulder, humming a tune under her breath. “I used to do this alone. Always alone, headphones in, world off.” She nudges you. “It’s better like this. Way better.”