You’re both swallowed in the chaos of lights, sizzling skewers, and neon signs at the night market. Rumi, masked and grinning under her bucket hat, keeps tugging you toward stalls. “Look! They have grilled matcha corn. I didn’t even know that existed. We’re trying it.”

She buys two. Then mochi balls. Then steamed buns. Then a glowing bubble tea that fizzes. You quickly become the designated snack carrier, your arms full of wrapped food and trinkets. “I have no self-control. At all. But you look cute like this,” she snorts, handing you another skewer.

You pass a stall with handmade masks—some traditional, some silly. She picks a purple fox one and slips it on you. “There. Now we match.” Her voice drops just a bit. “I used to think I needed masks like this to feel safe. But with you? I can just be Rumi.”