Maybe that’s why after the club meeting is done, I turn to Emmitt, tugging the end of my braid. “Before we go to the location, I have somewhere I want to show you.”

Emmitt arches his brows but nods. “Lead the way, love.”

We go in the opposite direction of the subway, which earns me a bemused look. He still follows me anyway, and we walk for only a few minutes until Kaufman Studios comes into sight. We stop just before, arriving in front of the Museum of the Moving Image.

“This is one of my favorite places in the world,” I say, turning to him with a bright grin. Even the text Baba sent me a few minutes ago, asking what time I’ll be home, isn’t enough to dampen my mood. There is hope in the world, and I’m reaching out to grab it with both hands. “I thought you might like it, too.”

Emmitt looks around, a faint smile on his lips. “Let’s go in, then.”

On Fridays after 4:00 p.m., tickets are free, so Emmitt and I bypass paying entirely, though we do linger on the first floor for a minute, admiring the architecture.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to take professional pictures here,” I say after a moment, biting my lip. “But our actual location is pretty close to here. Like twenty-five minutes? I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” he says, his fingers coming up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. He falters, eyeing me curiously. “Can I untie your hair?”

I blink. “My hair? Why?”

“I like it down. It suits you.” He shrugs, looking almost self-conscious. “You look happier when you let loose.”

My stomach somersaults, and I nod slowly. Emmitt hums, reaching for the hair tie at the end of my braid, pulling it free. Before I can reach up to run my hand through my hair, he does it for me.

Emmitt’s fingers are gentle as they card through my dark waves, and he pulls one lock between his fingers, skimming down the length of it before he lets go. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly.

And for once, I don’t think it’s his charisma speaking on his behalf. His gaze is even, steady, and his lips are parted in something like quiet awe.

I believe him. I believe him, and I don’t know what to make of it.

We wander through the museum for an hour, me pointing out some of my favorite pieces, and Emmitt absently taking photos on his phone instead of his camera. I join in, filming as we go through the galleries.