As Shinda Kahlon’s verses flowed through the car, blending traditional vibes with that modern, late-night grit, Kabir felt the miles between them vanish. They didn't need to say much. The lyrics did the heavy lifting, capturing that restless, magnetic pull of two people who couldn't figure out how to hang up.

"Just driving," Kabir replied, leaning back. "And listening to our song."

The neon glow of the dashboard clock ticked past 2:00 AM, casting a soft blue light over Kabir’s face. Outside, the highway stretched into a blur of black asphalt and yellow lines, but inside the car, the world felt small and intimate.