Sam reached his apartment a few minutes after leaving from dropping Farah off. It wasn't as if they were going to live far apart, going to the same university. He had forgotten that that was normal. Expected, even.

Farah had charmed him. She had made the anxiety that led up to approaching her out of the blue worth it. If nothing else came of Sam and Farah, at least their one date had been a memorable one. An enjoyable one.

But Sam wanted more to come of Sam and Farah. He wanted it more than he had wanted much else in his life.

He walked into his studio apartment, dropped his keys on the kitchen table, and took off his jacket. He wondered if this was a situation where he would want roommates. People to talk to after a date like the one he had just had. People to tell him he was being absurd for already wanting to text the girl again; plan another date with her.

Sam didn't have roommates. He had never wanted them, even when he had been a freshman. Three years and a broken engagement later, he supposed he was still grateful to live on his own.

He walked into his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He had shaved before the date. He had put some gel in his hair, which was now starting to lose its hold on some of the strands along his hairline. His pale-yellow dress shirt had complimented Farah's lilac dress when they saw each other. It had been like a field of pastel flowers.

"I like your shirt." Farah had said when they sat down at the restaurant.

"Yellow's my favorite color." Sam had replied in lieu of a thank-you.

Sam glanced at where his phone was performing a balancing act on the corner of the sink. He could text her. It would be simple to text her. It would take all of twenty seconds.

He spent the next twenty seconds staring at the sink.

He sighed and turned on the faucet, running his hands under the cold water and then running them through his hair. Water dripped down into the sleeves of his shirt, and he turned the faucet off, drying his hands with a towel and taking the shirt off. He would lay it out to dry.

He changed from frayed jeans into black sweatpants and sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. But he didn't see his hands—all he saw was the memory of him running after Farah on campus, now melting into the memory of their date. The memories were becoming one, and Farah was situating herself at the forefront of Sam's mind.

He looked at his phone again.

Twenty seconds.

Twenty seconds passed, and Sam turned the phone over and clicked off his lamp. He had been down this road before, and he didn't want to recreate those memories. He didn't want to end up at the same destination. This time would have to be different. This time would have to be done right, if he had any chance of seeing that girl again.

The wind outside his window lulled Sam to sleep, until his dreams were floating around in the air and the faces inside of them were indistinguishable one from another.

***

Farah wondered if fate sometimes intervened when it felt the need. She wondered about it, but always came to the same general conclusion: fate was probably very busy. It didn't have time to focus on any particular person's childish wishes.

But it felt like fate may have played a role. When she walked up to grab her lunch from the campus food court and Sam, my-favorite-color-is-yellow-Sam, I've-been-engaged-Sam, taps-you-on-the-shoulder-after-chasing-you-through-campus-Sam, was the one handing it to her.

Sam, who had insisted on paying for her dinner just three nights previous, was dressed in his short-sleeved red shirt with a name tag that read, 'My name is Sam! How may I serve you today?' Sam, who had mentioned in an ever-so-casual tone that he lived in a studio apartment nearby, was working during the lunch rush at the campus food court, which Farah knew for certain couldn't have paid more than $10/hour.

She stared at him for a second. It was a long second, but it was just a second. He broke through the second by saying, "Hi."

"Hi." She returned, but she was gulping back her nerves when she said it and it came out as more of a gurgle. Her cheeks flamed.

"Enjoy your lunch," said Sam.

"Thank you," said Farah.

She turned to leave and tend to her racing heart when a hand caught her wrist from over the counter.

"Farah," said Sam.

"Sam," said Farah.

"Do you have plans this evening?"

Farah's heartbeat kept its rapid pace, but now it was for a much happier reason.

"I do not," she said, "would you like to change that?"

Sam smiled in a cross between sheepishness and giddiness.

"7:00. I'll pick you up," said Sam.

"I'll be ready," said Farah.