I shake my head. “You’re so wrapped up in your romantic fantasies, you spew these statements that are so over the top. We’ve known each other for barely a second and you’re so…” I search for the right word.

“We’ve known each other for a week and half, and we’ve talked every one of those days.”

“I’m an asshole. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that for it to sink in.”

“I don’t think you are.”

I stare him down for a long moment before chugging the rest of my beer. He looks so happy. And so sure.

“Can I see your apartment?” I ask.

He resets his fingers to one for question eleven. “Yeah, do you want to come by tomorrow before we head to my parents’?”

“Now,” I tell him. “Can we go now?”

Twelve. Zarar searches my eyes. “Yes.” He nods. “Yes, James, we can go now.”

The wood creaks as we climb the narrow steps of Zarar’s three-story apartment building.

He deftly unlocks a dark blue door right off of the staircase, flips on the light, and leads me into a small living room with a galley kitchen off to the left.

My mouth is dry.

I step past Zarar to do a lap around the room. There’s a clean gray couch in front of a forty-inch TV and a small wood coffee table. He has some fishing poles against the wall in the far left corner of the room. There are minimal touches of decor here and there, and pictures. Zarar and a guy who looks a lot like him who must be his older brother, Javed, out in front of a tent among the trees. Zarar and his family at his graduation. Zarar and his mother on a couch.

Zarar walks toward a hallway off the living room so I follow. He leads me to the second door on the left and pushes it open.

“This is my room.” He steps in and sits on his single bed. I lean against the doorframe.

It’s very tiny. The walls are painted light gray, and his bedspread is a splotch of bold red among the neutral tones. There’s a small narrow bookcase up against the far wall, full of what look like nonfiction or biography-esque novels. On top of the bookcase is another framed picture of him and his brother. He has a compact nightstand next to the bed. There’s an Acting 101 book sitting on top of it.

“Is your roommate home?” I ask.

Zarar shakes his head. “At his boyfriend’s.”

I nod and walk back to the living room and sit on the couch.

Zarar follows.

“Very minimalist. I like it.” I tell him.

“Thanks.” He sits next to me. I stand. I should just leave.