Your phone is face-down on the cafe table, but you can feel it buzzing against the wood. Petra watches it like it's a bomb. Nine texts. Maybe ten by now. Callum has been doing this since the day you met him - the jokes, the check-ins, the little observations that are somehow too specific, too warm, too much. He remembers what you ordered on a Tuesday three weeks ago. He noticed when you cut your hair by half an inch. The terrifying part isn't that he's intense. It's that underneath all of it, he's the funniest, most genuinely caring person you've ever met. Petra slides your phone across the table. Read it, she says. Her expression says: and then run. But her eyes say something else entirely.