I haven’t thought about Payman in a long time. His family left Tehran for the countryside; I don’t know what happened to him, but later in life, I figured out why he was different. I figured out why those boys had teased him.

I don’t want Amir to be different because I don’t want him to get hurt.

Interrogation Room 39

Afshin Azadi

THE OTHER OFFICER told you Amir is gay? How is that relevant? We were simply arguing about . . . oh, something. Something else. A complete misunderstanding. It is complicated. But I don’t appreciate you saying things like that about my family.

Nine Days Ago

VALERIO HAD PROMISED to take me on another “epic date.” We were texting one morning, and he decided we would see the Sistine Chapel, because it was one of his favorite places in Rome, and apparently Goethe had written, “Until you have seen the Sistine Chapel, you can have no adequate conception of what man is capable of accomplishing.”

“Never heard of this Goethe dude,” I replied, making a mental note to look him up on Wikipedia later. “But that does sound pretty epic.”

Now I was standing in the grand foyer of the Vatican. The ceilings were curved, high, made of fine marble. Frescoes everywhere. I was at the center of the Catholic universe. As I waited for Valerio to buy our tickets, I realized that every little thing I had done that morning felt significant. It was like a Lonely Island song.

I took a step—AT THE VATICAN.

I drank some water—AT THE VATICAN.

I took a shit—AT THE VATICAN.

That last one might have actually been significant. It was technically the holiest shit of my life.

Valerio returned with our tickets. He was looking amazing that day, wearing a tucked-in polo with jeans rolled just above the ankle. He smiled at me with those soft lips. I mean, who gave him the right?

I suppose God.

Right.

A woman with rectangular glasses and dark red lipstick directed us outside, to a large terrace where tour groups and families seemed to be getting their start. The area had massive sculptures, which the guides were describing in animated detail.

It was the hottest day since I had arrived in Rome. The sun was relentless. I decided to rest back against a ledge as Valerio took in the sculptures.

He leaned next to me. “Tired already?”

I smiled. Ledges seemed to be our thing. Valerio then nudged my waist and leaned deeper into my side.

“Is this okay?” I whispered, looking around.

Valerio pulled me in. “Do not let people tell you how to live your life, Amir.”

“I just feel self-conscious, that’s all.”

“It is all about how you present yourself,” Valerio said, smiling at a man wearing a fanny pack who was glaring at us. “If I was standing in front of the Pope and I said, ‘Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Pope, I am gay,’ then of course he would be like, ‘Yeah, no. Not cool.’ But if I said, ‘Hey, I am gay,’ like it is my eye color, then the Pope would probably shrug and be like, ‘Okay, live your truth.’” Valerio jumped off the ledge and took a bow before me. “It is all about delivery.”