When we start walking back to the subway, our fingers are firmly interlaced. It’s a nice and comforting weight at my side.

“The city looks brilliant at night,” I say offhandedly, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. “I love seeing all the lights. I used to try to count them when I was younger.”

Emmitt laughs quietly. “Did you ever manage to finish?”

I shake my head, smiling ruefully. “My parents always cut me off before I could. Maybe one day, but it’ll probably have to wait until I’m back from California. At least they won’t be able to distract me then.”

There’s a strange silence, and I turn to see Emmitt staring at the skyline with a frown on his face.

“What?” I ask, poking him with my free hand. “Are you counting, too?”

“Mina,” Emmitt says slowly, turning to look at me. “Where is home for you?”

I pause, furrowing my brows. “What do you mean?”

He stops walking entirely, pulling us to a standstill. “The prompt. Home. Where is it for you?” he asks again, his voice a little more hesitant.

“What do you mean?” I ask again. “It’s—” I falter, unable to come up with an answer that feels right. I shake off the uncomfortable feeling, tugging on his hand. “Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Come on, let’s go.”

A range of emotions flit quickly across Emmitt’s face, uncertainty the one that sits on his features the longest, before he seems to steel himself. “I... I feel like you keep running away from everything.”

My hand goes slack in his. “What?”

Emmitt squeezes my hand, but I don’t squeeze back, trying to decipher his expression. “Your dream of going to California...what’s wrong with New York City? Why can’t this be home for you?”

“Don’t,” I say, taking a shaky step backward. I can’t do this with him, too. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why?” he asks, almost pleading. “I don’t understand, Mina. You love New York City so much. I see it every time you take me somewhere new. This city screams your name louder than anything else.”

“Emmitt, you don’t get it,” I say, tugging my hand out of his grip. My blood has turned to ice. “My parents—”

“They’re still going to be with you, whether you’re here or across the world,” Emmitt says, and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach. “You can’t outrun them.”

“I can try,” I say. His hand is still outstretched between us, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. “I will try. I’m going to win this film competition and I’m going to get into USC and I’m going to move to California.”

Emmitt blows out a breath, looking down. “You talk about this competition like it’s the only thing that matters.”