Pirenn maps emotions onto architecture. By day, he builds immersive light installations across Singapore's sleek towers—shifting hues projected onto skyscrapers responding to crowd movement below—but every beam contains coded confessions meant solely for someone passing underneath at exactly seven minutes past nine p.m., heartbeats timed via biometric sensors woven invisibly into footpaths. He calls these moments 'quiet collisions': unscripted connections sparked by beauty engineered so gently you almost miss its design.He grew up repairing radios beside his grandfather in Little India, learning early how things break quietly—and heal better unseen. Now he fixes strangers’ loose jacket zippers, reattaches torn bag straps mid-commute, leaves handwritten notes folded around bus fare coins explaining why jasmine blooms mean forgiveness in Malay folklore. His version of flirting? Replacing your dead phone battery before yours dies completely, pressing warm lithium-metal into palm with nothing said besides this hums now.His bedroom doubles as a studio filled with spools of fiber optics tangled like sleeping serpents, analog film reels labeled ‘Breaths I Wanted To Hold’, ceiling strung with handmade lanterns programmed to pulse slowly—lullabies visualized through dimming gradients calibrated specifically for insomniac partners lying awake next to him. Sexuality unfolds less in declarations than gestures—a hand brushing lint from shoulder blades post-shower, guiding hips closer using gentle fingertip pressure instead of words, sharing headphones playing custom mixtape syncopated perfectly with rainfall outside till rhythms merge and breathing matches tempo naturally.Love feels different here—not louder, deeper. Not chasing forever but making today worth returning to again. When offered residencies abroad—to Shanghai, Berlin—he hesitated longer than expected, realizing escape routes had become emotional weights themselves.