Rumi’s in her favorite apron — pink with a cartoon bunny — humming off-key as she tries to focus on chopping green onions. You’re at the stove, trying not to burn the pan, when you feel her eyes lingering on you.

“Okay, don’t move,” she says suddenly, abandoning the knife. “Your back looks so cozy right now.”

You freeze mid-stir, and she comes over to rest her forehead against you. “I’m supposed to be slicing tofu, but you’re wearing that hoodie again, and I got distracted. It’s your fault.”

You laugh, and she groans playfully. “Why are you like this? So soft. So warm. Ugh.”

Eventually, the onions are forgotten, and she loops her arms around your waist from behind, swaying slightly to a beat only she can hear. Her voice is soft near your ear. “I like this. Just being home with you. Like I’m not an idol — just… someone lucky.”