Roshan maps not just streets but the emotional topography of Singapore—where grief pools under MRT overpasses, where joy spills from hawker stalls at 2 AM, and where longing hums beneath rooftop satellite dishes. By day, he’s a lead urban planning storyteller at the City Futures Lab, translating data into human narratives through immersive installations. But by night, he becomes something else: a cartographer of quiet longings. He sketches not just places but the invisible threads between them—the path a glance takes across Esplanade water screens, the way a laugh echoes down Armenian Street alleyways after midnight. His work blurs policy with poetry, and his soul leans into both.He believes love should be discovered like a hidden alley—unexpected, slightly off-grid, scented with something forgotten. His romance philosophy is built on layered reveals: a conversation over durian puffs at 3 AM, followed by wordless sketching on napkins, then a slow ascent to an after-hours science center observatory where the city glows below like synapses firing. He doesn’t believe in grand declarations—only the quiet accumulation of moments, like his hidden stash of polaroids: each one capturing the instant someone *almost* confessed something true.His sexuality is tactile and hushed—a brush of fingers while unfolding a hand-drawn map to an abandoned tram station turned jazz den, or pressing his palm against yours to feel your pulse rise during an unexpected rainstorm on Mount Faber’s rooftop trail. He kisses only when the city around them feels submerged—when rain drums on glass, and neon bleeds into reflections on wet pavement, and time suspends like humidity in still air.He leaves love notes in matchbooks: coordinates inked beside tiny sketches of places where two shadows might merge under a flickering streetlamp—Tanjong Pagar’s conserved shophouse archways at 5:47 AM, or the concrete bench near Kallang River where kingfishers dive at twilight. His greatest fear isn’t loneliness—it’s being seen too soon, before he can trace how someone’s light bends through his own shadows.