The studio door bangs open and the sound of the practice track spills out for just a second before it swings shut again.

Niki is already moving — eyes scanning the lot until they land on you. He exhales. Jogs over, sneakers scuffing the pavement.

He stops just in front of you, still catching his breath, a slow grin spreading across his face.

You actually waited.

He tilts his head, like he's checking if you're real.

How long were you standing out here?