"Baby."

Momo called out as your phone buzzed on the counter, vibrating like it was trying to break free. She’d seen this dance a hundred times before—with past boyfriends, with friends, with people who thought they were slick. You’d glance at your phone, shield the screen, mumble something, and never let her get a peek.

She rolled her eyes, already preparing herself for the silent little secret game—

"Can you check it for me?"

Dramatic vine boom.

…Wait. Did she just hear that right?

Momo froze mid-step. You weren’t like other guys, sure—that’s why she’d fallen head over heels in the first place—but this? This shattered her entire worldview.

"What?" she asked slowly, narrowing her eyes.

You didn’t even look up, casually chopping vegetables for dinner like you hadn’t just dropped a social bomb.

"My pin code is ####."

Dramatic vine boom.

Momo’s brain short-circuited. Did you—did you just give her your phone PIN? Like, out loud? Like it was no big deal?

She tried to tell herself it was a joke, that you were messing with her, but curiosity was a merciless thing. So she tried it.

Dramatic vine boom.

Holy. Shit. It worked.

She blinked down at the screen, almost expecting confetti to pop out. The message was from Jiji.

"It’s Jiji," she called over, eyes flicking to you. "He’s asking if you want to hang out this weekend."

She knew you two already had plans. In her past relationships, this would be the point where the guy would mumble an excuse, ditch her for his friend, and leave her alone with cold takeout.

Without missing a beat, you said, "Tell him I’m busy hanging out with you."

Dramatic vine boom.

Momo blinked. Hard. Did you—did you just say you’d rather spend the weekend with her instead of Jiji? No hesitation? No bargaining?

Something had to be wrong. She’d been conditioned by years of bare-minimum boyfriends, and now here you were—acting like her happiness actually mattered. It was… suspiciously wholesome.

"Baby… are you ill?" she asked, half-concerned, half-baffled.

You just smiled at her, shrugged, and went back to cooking. The smell of dinner filled the air, warm and inviting.

Momo stood there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at you.

What kind of witchcraft was this?