“I got distracted. By the time I came out, there was a meteor shower going on.”

Ibrahim poked his head free, guilty as charged. They faced each other, smiling with their cheeks and their eyes, sinister intent coupled with sincere cynicism. Voices of children playing in the courtyard below scaled the walls of The U. The Witch held her gaze on him. In a second, her golden-brown eyes pulse violet, and Ibrahim’s reciprocated.

She thought, Good, and turned out the window lifting one leg over the glass. “Well, I’m heading out. I’ll let you know if­–”

“Hold on.” Ibrahim leapt from the couch.

The Witch peered over her shoulder. She found him standing before her, stern-faced, with his wand outstretched. She smirked and grabbed the other end. Ribbons of royal purple power, swirling like cosmic energy, twirled from her wrist into the wand, emitting radiant heat. Ibrahim grinned, shadows washing over his face in the light of the energy transfer. She held this for a few seconds before relinquishing the wand to him. The Witch carried her other leg over the glass.

“Don’t spend it all at once.”

“No promises,” Ibrahim replied gazing into his wand.

“You’ll need it for the party – when this city blows like a firework. I’d stay out of the spotlight if I were you.” She plopped off the window and out of sight. In her wake, the windows realigned into linear windowpanes stacked across the wall. The outside breeze whistled against the upper wing of The U.

***

Later in the day, Wino jogged across Ménage Boulevard. He dawned the full getup: headband, wristbands, pulse measuring fitness watch, and wireless earbuds pumping music. He scanned the street, jogging in place before humming his way across to The U on the other side. A family sipping smoothies curiously watched him run by. One of the kids tailed him. He slowed to an energetic pace as The U’s glass doors slid open for him.

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In the elevator, a dog sniffed and licked the beads of sweat off his ankle. Both the owner and the dog paused for a reaction. Wino’s overburdened senses attended to his good stress, soreness, and exhilaration. His toe tapped. His knee bounced with the sway of his arms to the Afrobeats in his head until the elevator door dinged open. He paced to his room, resisting the infectious urge to break out into a dance.

Inside, Ibrahim sat on the couch.

Wino stopped and wondered, Who are these two? He inquired, "Um. Ibrahim?"

Two ladies snuggled beneath Ibrahim’s arms with smiles gleaming towards Wino. They leaned into Ibrahim whispering, “Is this your roomy?”

Ibrahim mumbled, “Yeah, he lives with me.”

Wino searched the room. Ibrahim’s folded blanket stacked on the other couch facing the door; nylon bags with Chinese words printed in red sat on the center table; two styrofoam takeouts, one with falafels, the other containing scraps of tilapia; and a Bollywood drama was airing. Wino’s uplifted expression plummeted. Finally, he grumpily addressed Ibrahim.

Ibrahim asked, “Were you jogging just now? I thought you went to work.” Ibrahim leaned forward, almost looking concerned. “Wino, are you jobless?”

“No, idiot, I just jogged back.”

A knocking sounded at the door. It slid open to Cheryl on her phone.

She strutted past Wino who held the door open for her saying, “Wino, I found this nice–” Cheryl looked up and intuitively read the situation: Ibrahim grinned on the couch alongside two ladies, takeout on the table, Bollywood drama on the TV, and a visibly grouchy Wino at the door. She turned, whining, “Ibrahim! We didn’t know you’d be having guests.”

Ibrahim snarled back at her, “So? I never know when you’re coming, yet you’re always here.”

Wino defensively retorted, “Yes, you do know, ‘cause I always tell you.”

“Well, I don’t-listen. Speak up next time.”

The two ladies pulled away from the conversation. An awkward silence wiggled its way into the atmosphere. The tension between the three participants heated up. Cheryl and Wino stared down against Ibrahim until the girls under Ibrahim’s arms bounced. Their focus locked onto the television.

One gasped while the other jousted her finger towards the TV. “Oh my gosh, he’s doing it. He’s really doing it.”

The first one bit her nails while the other one hugged her shins onto the couch, adding, “What’s Romeo gonna do, then? What’s Romeo gonna do?”

“I don’t know!”

“He’s going to be devastated. Oh, this is going to be horrible.”

Ibrahim used the cinematic tension on screen to pull the ladies in closer to him for comfort. His grin reached across his face while they coddled and clung to him.