With his peripheral still set on Wino, Ibrahim saw his best friend’s familiar smile returning. The sight soothed him. Despite Wino’s phone addiction, things were coming together. The new normal that Ibrahim had awakened from hibernation into was finding its way back. And although he waged war upon it, Ibrahim cherished the uneventful stability it offered. He slid his arm down the couch, turning away. The volume of the TV rose. Splattering bubbles of oil sang to the tantalizing aroma of grilled onions and sautéed tomatoes. Wino’s phone shivered.

Three knocks sounded at the door. Wino and Ibrahim turned to it like cautious deer in a meadow. Ibrahim glanced back, meeting Wino with pursed brows. They said nothing. Ibrahim rose to answer.

The door opened. Ibrahim retracted. His feet shuffled to gain some distance.

“Ibrahim.” Wino hunched over the counter. He poked some digital keys using his index finger. “Who is it?”

“It’s Cheryl,” Ibrahim responded.

Wino rose and flew around the kitchen counter to respond. “What? Cheryl?”

True to Ibrahim’s word, Cheryl stood in the doorframe. She wore a stern expression like a mother returning to scold her unruly children. Wino scanned her head to toe as if confirming she was real. She glared back at him with unwavering conviction. For but a moment, her gaze slipped beyond Wino but snapped back into place immediately.

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“I knew it,” she mumbled.

Wino started, “What’re you doing? You didn’t tell me you were coming?”

“Can I come in?” she asked almost authoritatively.

The men parted. Cheryl entered with her head held high and stepped with a fire in her belly. She paused between them.

Ibrahim closed the door as Wino asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I just wanted to check up on you.” Cheryl’s hand sat on her purse like it was a holstered firearm. A fragile golden chain slung over her shoulder strung it.

“Check up? B’cus of what?”

She snapped to Ibrahim. He reeled back defensively.

“Wh-What?” Ibrahim asked.

She paused––dead set on him like he was a convicted criminal. Ibrahim’s confused gaze bounced between the couple.

Wino intervened, “Sherry, what’s going on?”

“You have it, don’t you?” She ignored Wino.

“Have what?” Ibrahim answered.

She squinted. “Magic.”

Ibrahim was speechless. His arms fell to his sides.

“Sherry,” Wino snagged her attention. “Ibrahim doesn’t have magic anymore.” He instinctively gestured for the countertop as evidence.

“Then where’s his wand?” she asked.

Wino glanced back. The gray-cored wand had snuck away undetected. He fell silent and followed Cheryl, returning to Ibrahim.

Dumbfounded, Ibrahim’s lips were sealed shut. Ibrahim ping-ponged between them, jutting violet speckles over his retina. These shards hovered like suspended astronauts in zero gravity.

“Ibrahim.” Wino inched forward. “You have it? You have your wand again?”