I had a great time with Momo that day in the calanques. Before we parted ways at the bus terminal, he offered to bring me upstairs to hang out in his room but I politely refused. Instead, he waited with me at the terminal until the bus back to the central station arrived. It wasn't that I didn't find him attractive or that I didn't want to have sex with him. On the contrary, I was afraid that I might ruin it all again, like what happened the last time. I told him that I loved to, but I was running short on time. We agreed that we'll probably see each other again.

Momo was a great guy, and he didn't deserve to be held back by my own emotional baggage. Things were going great with him, and I loved to pursue whatever we had further. But first I had to get myself in order.

I archived all chats with Ferran so that I wouldn't see them – not like we texted much anyway. Ferran was not much of a talker both in person or over text. The few photographs I had of him, and the both of us together, I put in an album and hid it. Sure, I didn't delete it, but I was sure ready to move on. I guess I was just the sentimental type.

The following Sunday I finally texted Momo again. I asked if he'd like to hang out. I could see that he had read my message, but he didn't respond. Perhaps he was busy. I didn't think too much about it.

He finally responded to me three days later. I had all but forgotten I even asked. I found texting him really strange, since it was always a toss up between thinking if he was deliberately ignoring me or not. I wanted to ask him about it, but felt like we had such a good time that I didn't want to ruin it with what seemed like such a confrontational question. Nevertheless it irritated me, but I still didn't make a fuss about it.

We agreed that I would come over to his place. He told me he had the place free the next weekend with his roommate going away on a short trip. It was fine by me, I didn't mind travelling. But first, he asked me to get ourselves some shawarma from a particular shop in the Noailles district. It was a few blocks from where I lived, so I didn't mind at all.

Noailles was crowded as usual, and I made my way through the old buildings and down its narrow streets, past spice shops and hookah bars. I finally arrived at the shawarma shop at the corner and got us two chicken shawarmas, and fries. It was a small shop, and the burly Syrian man behind the counter readily packed up my order.

Momo gave me instructions on how to get to his dormitory from the bus terminal, and he met me at the lobby downstairs.

"Ah, you brought the shawarma," he said, beaming.

"You seem to be more excited for the shawarma than seeing me," I said, teasingly.

"Well," he replied. "Can't I be excited for both?"

I could only smile in return. Momo led me up the stairs to the fourth storey, and we walked down a long corridor until we reached his room. I counted about five doors that we walked past before we finally got to his.

Momo lived in a shared suite with his roommate. The common space was just a sofa, a small dining area and a small kitchenette, which was the standard. Momo's room was on the left.

"Sorry if it's a mess," he said. "Just make yourself at home."

The room was rather cramped, only managing to fit in a desk, a bed and some basic furnishings, but I guess it was enough for a single student. I suppose it would've seemed more spacious if it wasn't for how cluttered it was. His desk was covered with things – piles of math textbooks, his stationery, his macbook, and even painting supplies. His wardrobe was open, revealing rows of shirts on hangers while his towel hung over the top of the open door. Paintings – both watercolour and charcoal were stuck to his wall with washi tape. Above his wardrobe were piles of well-read books. You could tell they were used given their condition. Perhaps even second-hand. Opposite his desk lay a giant green beanbag, a guitar sitting snugly right above it.

Momo picked up a few articles of clothing strewn on the floor as I sat on his bed, tiptoeing past the things all over the room. It was pushed right against the window overlooking the open space at the back of the dormitory.

"You know I did try to do some cleaning before you arrived," he said as he carried out his laundry in a basket. "But my friend down the hall needed help with something so I helped her sort it out."

"Oh, that's very kind of you," I said as looked outside.

"Yeah, she needed help with the plumbing since there was something wrong with her sink," he replied. "Anyway, do you mind waiting a bit? I'm going to shower."

"Yeah, sure," I muttered.

Wow, I thought to myself. It surely was messy.

The sky outside was turning red, the day drawing to a close. I heaved out a sigh.

Momo returned about ten minutes later I nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet and dripping, droplets of water falling onto his chest.

"Could you please help me draw the blinds?" he asked. "I mean, I'm sure some people have seen me naked before but I wouldn't want to make it a habit."

I did as he asked.

He went over to the closet and dropped his towel, feeling comfortable enough to do so around me. Slipping on a salmon hoodie and a pair of white shorts, he turned around with a boyish grin on his face.

"Sorry for making you wait," he said. "Coffee or tea?"

"Tea is good," I replied.

"Great," he answered. "And come on, lie down or something don't just sit at the edge of the bed."

He switched on the lights on his way out.

Feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks, I forced my shoulders relax. It was true, I was sitting at the edge of the bed all tense and he noticed it. How embarrassing.

But the truth was, I did feel a little tense. This was the third time we've seen each other, and things were beginning to feel like they were getting serious. We never talked about it, but I suppose there was just an implicit agreement of what we were to each other. It was just how things were. Amélie and I had never ever said it out loud before we took it for granted that we were in a relationship. Maybe that was why things easily unravelled as well.

Momo came back with two mugs of tea which he placed on the table, miraculously managing to find some space between all the clutter.

"It's liquorice tea," he said. "I don't really like liquorice but this tea tastes great."

"Thanks," I muttered, looking up at him.

Momo bent over and reached down into the space between his desk and bed and pulled out a wooden plank. Seeing me raise my eyebrow he chuckled.

"Oh, this?" he said. "One of my shelves broke so I just repurposed it for eating. It's like a table since. . . Well you've seen my table."

With that, he left the room again with a laugh. He came back a moment later with a plate, and both of our shawarmas on it, as well as the box of fries. I made some room for him as he sat down on the bed beside me. We sat facing each other, the repurposed shelf between us acting as our little dining table.

"I didn't know what sauces you wanted," I said as I slowly unwrapped my shawarma from its foil. "So I just went with yogurt sauce."

"No it's fine," he said, already taking a bite. "I eat anything."

I felt myself relax as I slowly ate. Momo switched on the lamp he had behind his bed, illuminating the room in a soft red glow. It was just a normal standing lamp which he had thrown a thin red cloth over. Well, I guess he sure was a problem solver.

"I used to have these a lot," he told me between bites. "They're so good."

I only nodded and smiled. I rarely had them, but I had to agree. They were good. Not something I see myself eating everyday, but good.

"How did you find this particular place?" I asked. "You told me your family lives in the northern part of town."

"Well," Momo said, leaning back against the window. "My family used to live in Nouailles, a few years ago."

"Why'd you move?" I asked.

Momo fell silent for a brief moment, and I immediately regretted asking him. Momo wrapped his half-eaten shawarma back in its foil and placed it on the plate between us.

"Well," he finally said, averting my gaze. "We had to leave because the building was deemed unsafe."

"I'm so sorry," I replied, putting my food down as well.

"Yeah," he muttered. "We're lucky it didn't collapse on us or anything."

"I can't imagine."

"It's okay," he said with a sad smile. "I've been through worse. At least my family was still together. In a sense we helped each other."

And that was when I understood what he meant that day we were at the balcony of Amélie's apartment. These were the people who had helped him go through those difficult times. It's not as simple as cutting them off if they were homophobic. You simply couldn't.

"Can I give you a hug?" I asked.

"I'd love that," Momo replied softly.

Now it was my turn to return the favour. I held him there as he leaned against me, letting out a slight sigh. I could feel my heart thump in my chest being close to him, his rough hair brushing against my cheek.

"Ugh, the food is going to get cold" he remarked when we finally parted. "Sorry for ruining the mood."

"It's okay," I said. "Let's just talk about something else."

And so we did. We ended up talking for hours. There was just something about him that made me want to continue talking. His smile as he listened, his occasional witty comment, his soft chuckle - they just served to draw me closer to him.

He wanted to know everything, so I told him. Even things I thought of as boring or ordinary he listened with attentiveness and a smile, as if I were telling him the most interesting story in the world. I told him about the mountains, about our little country house, about our small aromatic garden.

"That reminds me of our little garden on our balcony," he said. "My grandmother planted all sorts of things and our house always smelled fresh even though it was small and cramped. Mint, rosemary, all sorts of things. We even had one of those small lemon trees in a pot."

"I guess it's the smell of love," I replied.

"Like lemon and rosemary," he said softly, a smile on his lips.

Likewise, I loved listening to him. He told me about how he and Hasan would play soccer in the alley with their friends, about how their cat would regularly return to their apartment with a dead rat in its jaws, about how his grandmother's tea was the best he had ever tasted.

I guess it was those special, happy memories that stay with us. Those precious moments that brighten our evenings when we remembered them. Things to make us remember how such warmth could exist even when things seemed bleak and cold.

We started talking about our experiences in school, and Momo was surprised to the fact that I went to a private boarding school.

"You don't seem snobby," he remarked. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"We're not all like that," I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "Amélie was from my school too you know?"

"With her it's a bit obvious," Momo replied. "She's just too refined and dainty. And it's obvious that her family's rich."

I laughed, he was right.

The sun had set, and it had gotten dark outside. I thoroughly enjoyed myself talking to him, just like always, that I had forgotten about the time.

"Oh wow," I said, looking outside. "What's the time now, Momo?"

"It's almost ten," he answered. "Why? You have somewhere to be?"

"No. . ." I muttered, getting up. "I was just worried it was getting late. Didn't want to overstay my welcome."

"Actually," Momo replied, grabbing my arm. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay the night."

I bit my lip as I slowly returned to his side, by the bed.

"I was actually hoping you'd say that," I replied with a smile.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it. Knowing that what happened the last time was interrupted by my own frustrations, my feelings for him only grew. To know that he still wanted me after all this time made me feel at ease. Feeling his arms wrapped around me, I didn't care that his lips tasted like yogurt and liquorice tea.

All that mattered was that I wanted him and that he wanted me.