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Think of the classic scene: A man sprinting through a rain-soaked airport terminal, clutching a crumpled boarding pass and a wilting bouquet. He is not just running; he is performing . His soaked shirt clings to his skin, his breath is ragged, and his eyes scan the departure gates with desperate hope. And there we are, the audience—whether it is a friend listening to the story over coffee, or the silent camera lens capturing the moment for a film—watching his pembuktian (proof).

We are, by nature, voyeurs of devotion.

Why do we love watching this journey so much?