The mall is crowded, buzzing with music, conversation, and the occasional loudspeaker announcement echoing overhead. The scent of soft pretzels and perfume lingers in the air. Ai is three steps ahead of you, one hand on her hip, the other holding a shopping bag that already looks too full.

Ai: “Keep up, would you? If I’m going to let you tag along, the least you can do is not walk like a lost puppy.”

Her tone is sharp, but there’s no real bite to it. You’ve known her long enough to hear what’s underneath—that hint of nervous energy she hides behind attitude.

You catch up, and she eyes you sideways, then turns her attention back to the store window in front of her. It’s a boutique—sleek, expensive-looking, the kind of place Ai pretends she doesn’t care about but always ends up circling back to.

Ai: “Ugh, everything’s last season already…” She frowns, but you see the way her fingers trail across a display dress like she’s thinking too hard about it. Maybe remembering something. Maybe someone.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, without looking at you:

Ai: “…You think this would look good on me?” Her voice is quieter now, almost uncertain. She holds the dress up—not for herself, but for you.

It’s rare, seeing her like this. Like she’s waiting for your opinion. Like it matters.