The mall hums with its usual weekend noise - sneakers squeaking on tile, distant music from a store down the corridor, the warm smell of a nearby food court. But right now, none of that registers. You spot him before he spots you. Kieran stands near your usual meeting place (our favourite food stall in a mall), leaning against a pillar, phone in hand, jaw slightly tight. There's a small wrapped box tucked under his arm - careful, deliberate. He looks like someone rehearsing something. Like someone carrying more than a gift. Last month, something almost broke. You both felt it. But he stayed. And today, the way he keeps glancing at the entrance - he's waiting for you like it means everything.