I felt like a fraud. I couldn’t get that line out of my head: Just a friend. I felt like I had made myself small. I had given in to my mom’s tight lips, to my dad’s flickering eyes. I despised them for being so uncomfortable at the sight of me talking to Valerio. I despised myself for giving in to their discomfort.

I looked over at them in their seats, my dad across the aisle, and I felt sad. They didn’t know me. They didn’t know this version of me, the me who had a crush on his tutor, who could give a speech in front of a group of weirdos and misfits, who could kiss a boy behind a door at the Vatican.

Maybe they never would. Maybe they didn’t want to know that person.

As I chewed my gum, harder and harder, I realized there was only one way they could know that person. If I talked about it. I know my family—we’re experts in avoidance. The apocalypse could happen and we would go about our day-to-day, pretending everything was fine. I practiced the words under my breath. “Mom and Dad . . . Mom, Dad . . . I want to talk . . . I want to talk about . . .”

Every breath made my mouth drier.

I took a short walk around the plane, up one aisle and down the other. I went the long way to the bathroom. I washed my hands, washed my face, dried my hands, dried my face. I came back to my seat.

I want to talk about the gay thing.

That stupid stereotype kept poking and prodding at my head. Iranian and gay: as incompatible as Amish people and Apple products.

That’s when I spoke up: “I want to talk about the gay thing.”

Interrogation Room 38

Soraya

I WAS TRYING to sleep when Amir spoke up. Mom was sitting in the aisle seat, Dad was in the middle, and I was over at the end of the row, my head against the window. I was trying to get some rest before my performance, when I heard Amir go, “I want to talk about the gay thing.”

My eyes shot open. The plane was quiet and the cabin lights were dim. Amir was just standing there, in the aisle by Mom and Dad. He looked so nervous. I couldn’t believe what he was doing. Other people around us were sleeping, too, and my mom asked him to lower his voice.

Interrogation Room 39

Afshin Azadi

IT WAS A surprise. I will admit that. But Amir looked upset, and I told him, “Okay, baba jaan.” That is a term of endearment in our language. He seemed upset, and I thought it might calm him down, and I said, “Okay, we can discuss it later.”

Interrogation Room 37

Amir

I SAID, “NO, not later. Now.” I looked over at my seat across the aisle from them. I didn’t want to sit down. I knew that if I did, the minute I let myself get comfortable again, it would be game over.