2. catching up

Hamzah's apartment was on the fifth floor of a building that looked older than the two of us combined. The bricks were weathered, the kind that held stories I'd never hear, and the stairwell smelled faintly of coffee and floor cleaner.

"It's not much," Hamzah said, unlocking the door with a practiced flick of his wrist. "But it's home."

As the door swung open, I stepped inside and took it all in. The space was small, but cozy-sunlight streamed through a single large window, bathing the room in a golden glow. A couch sat against one wall, covered in mismatched throw pillows, and a tiny kitchen nook occupied the corner. A painting I recognized from our childhood-a vibrant swirl of colors that Hamzah had once proudly called his "masterpiece"-hung crookedly above the couch.

"You kept that?" I asked, pointing at the painting. "Of course I did." Hamzah smiled. "You helped me paint it, remember? I couldn't let it go." I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded, a warmth spreading through my chest. "Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "make yourself at home. Your room's through there." He gestured to a small door on the left. When I opened it, I found a tiny bedroom barely big enough for the twin bed and dresser inside. But the bed was neatly made with fresh sheets, and a single daisy sat in a jar on the windowsill. "It's perfect," I said, turning back to him. "Good," he replied. "I had a bet with Martin that you'd complain. Guess I owe him five bucks.""Oh, shut up," I said, tossing a pillow at him.Hamzah caught it with ease, laughing. "Speaking of Martin, you'll meet him soon. We've been working on this YouTube thing together-he's over here all the time.""YouTube?" I tilted my head. "What kind of YouTube thing?"Hamzah scratched the back of his neck. "Uh... it's kind of all over the place, honestly. We do, like, reviews, sketches, sometimes vlogs. It's chaotic, but people seem to like it.""How many people?"He hesitated. "Enough to keep doing it. Not enough to pay rent."I laughed, shaking my head. "Classic Hamzah. No clue what you're doing, but somehow making it work.""Pretty much," he said with a shrug. "Now, unpack or food first? I know this place down the street-best shawarma in the city.""Food," I said immediately. "Always food.""Good choice. Let's go."

The restaurant was tucked into a narrow street lined with graffiti and tiny shops, the kind of place you wouldn't notice unless someone told you to look for it. Inside, the air was warm and fragrant, filled with the sizzling sounds of meat on a spit and the chatter of people packed into booths.

Hamzah ordered for us, rattling off words I didn't recognize with the ease of someone who had been here a thousand times before. When the food arrived, it was a feast-shawarma wraps bursting with spiced chicken, tahini, and pickled vegetables, with a side of crispy fries dusted with sumac.

"This is amazing," I said around a mouthful of food. "Told you," Hamzah said, smirking. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, but eventually, curiosity got the better of me. "So," I said, brushing a crumb off my sweater. "What have you been up to all these years? Besides making YouTube videos with Martin?"Hamzah laughed, leaning back in his seat. "Honestly? Not much. I tried a bunch of things-college, random jobs-but nothing really stuck. Then Martin and I started filming stuff for fun, and it kind of took off. We're not big or anything, but it's been fun. Keeps me busy, I guess."I tilted my head. "So, no big life plan?"He shrugged. "Not yet. I mean, do we really need one? You're the planner; I'm just the guy winging it and hoping for the best."I rolled my eyes. "Some things never change.""What about you?" he asked, tilting his head. "Still painting like a maniac?" "Always," I said with a grin. "Art school starts next week, so I'll be busy, but I'm excited. Nervous, too." "Nervous about what?" I hesitated, picking at the edge of my napkin. "I don't know. What if I'm not good enough? Or what if it's not what I expect? Moving here feels like this huge leap, and I'm scared I'll fall flat on my face." Hamzah's expression softened. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine" I smiled, his words sinking into the parts of me that needed them most. "Thanks," I said quietly. "Anytime."

The walk back to the apartment was quiet, the streets illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. Toronto felt different at night-quieter, calmer. I liked it.