I see Zayn busy prepping two cups of coffee, looking very intently at both the cups, almost as if they were his exes. He looks at me as I close the door behind me and smiles. Zayn is taller than most men I know, and his face glows with empathy and kindness. He’s also got the most captivating smile. What I like most about him is that he fully embraces his identity as a gay man and takes pride in it. He doesn’t shy away from owning who he is. He moved to the US from Nigeria not just to follow his artistic passions, but also to escape the conservative society there that shuns homosexuals.

And that’s one thing I love about America: it’s the land of second chances. Are you bankrupt? No problem. The government’s got you covered if you’re a citizen. Are you divorced or recently single? Go ahead and find yourself another person to date and fall in love with. You failed at your job? Just get another job or try something else. Nobody gives a damn about your personal life really. Back in India, though, your family interferes so much in everything that your life is hardly yours. Ask me!

Seeing me walk towards him, Zayn immediately asks one of his fellow baristas, a charming brown girl, to take care of the orders. This place, and especially his presence, instantly lift my mood and spirits.

‘Left one is a vegan almond milk cappuccino for table 7 and the right one is a regular milk cappuccino for table 11. Got it?’ he asks, staring at the girl intently.

‘Are you sure?’ the girl asks, sounding doubtful.

‘Almost sure,’ he replies and winks playfully, pointing towards the side where the customers are seated.

‘Coffee or wine?’ he asks me when I reach the counter and find that my usual seat is unoccupied.

‘Wine. It’s the weekend, Zee,’ I say, my face lighting up at the idea of having a glass of wine.

‘I had the pleasure of serving wine to Billy,’ Zayn says as he pulls out a bottle of my favourite merlot and pours it into a wine glass.

‘Billy who? You’ve never mentioned him before. Is he one of your Sunday Grindr dates?’ I ask, my brows raised in question.

‘You don’t know Billy? Billy Joel? Jeez!’ Zayn exclaims, sounding appalled.

‘Of course I do. That’s his song playing in the background, right? “Piano Man”, isn’t it? But wait, you served him wine? Tell me the whole story. Now, please!’ I demand, sounding like a child asking for candy.

‘Don’t be absurd. I dreamt about this yesterday. I served him wine, and then he asked me to play the guitar with his band in a private gig aboard a yacht in Hawaii. I said yes, and it was magical.’ Zayn sighed. It looked as if his dream guy had said yes to a marriage proposal.