I left home and sometimes I don’t know why.

I miss the smell of Kabsa from the restaurant by my university. I miss the communal love of football, and I’m still adjusting to its new name. I even miss the heat sometimes.

“Catch, Hassan!”

I glanced up just in time to catch a gray and navy blue plaid shirt before it landed on my head. Its aroma hit me so kindly, making my eyes roll from the soft pleasure of the spicy, masculine aroma.

“Will you put that in the laundry, babe?”

Kyle’s shirtless torso peeking out from the bathroom was framed in my vision like a Matisse painting, so abstract and joyful in a way that made me cringe a little. The lines of his toned muscles and the tender hair on his chest ran down my heart like droplets of rain on a window. How kind and echoic his simple question was made my head roll back, overcome, my spirit dripping like how Moscato presses on the heavy love you feel…

“Of course, ’umri.”

Right or wrong, I remembered why I left my old home for this new one; it was Kyle.