"What is love in this temporal life, if not just a distraction from the pain that doesn't seem to end."
After losing his best friend to an unexplained suicide, Mateu finds himself left to pick up the pieces with his best friend's younger brother, Fe...
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"Are you sure about this?" I asked Momo. "We can always call it off if you don't feel like it. I can tell him you don't feel well."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I've just. . . I've thought about it long and hard, and I think we have to do this. I can't keep running away anymore."
Whatever it is, it was his choice, and I was just here to support him. It had been a week since the incident at the restaurant, and Momo finally agreed to see Hasan for the first time since he left for Algeria to deal with the last rites of their grandmother. I didn't know if I could've had the courage to do that. If I were him, I would've probably tried to avoid Hasan all my life.
But that brought me back to the first time I met Momo – properly, at the balcony at Amélie's dinner party. His words that evening had left a deep impact. It's not always easy to cut off the ones you love – and in fact, why even cut someone off if you claim that you love them?
Maybe I have grown used to people coming and going as soon as they appeared. Disappearing without a trace, not even saying goodbye. But Momo taught me that for some people, the ties that bind you will simply never let go. Maybe life was meant to be lived in this way instead, a way where people aren't as disposable. A life where others mattered.
I couldn't help but look at Momo with a mix of awe and adoration. As we waited for Hasan to arrive outside the Palais du Pharo, sitting on the marble steps of its neoclassical entrance, I discreetly placed my hand over his.
Momo had managed to keep his cool for the most part that evening as we were returning home. His eyes were glassy in the cab, but he managed to hold his tears until the door of my apartment was safely locked behind us. He cried all evening, and even in bed that night, he sobbed himself to sleep. I knew no words could console him, so I only held him, wrapping him in my arms to let him know that I was there for him.
"What did he tell you exactly?" I asked him the next day while we were cooking breakfast.
Momo had just showered, dressed in a black turtleneck that fit his frame perfectly. It was late in May, which meant that the semester was coming to an end. The final assignments were beginning to pile up, and soon the exams would hit. I couldn't imagine the stress that he was going through, and yet he still soldiered on. If I made a remark about it, I knew the exact words he'd say – he simply has to.
"That he knew about me and you," he mumbled softly as he picked up his mug of coffee.
"Did he indicate that he was angry or anything?"
"He didn't."
"Then what are you so afraid of?"
Momo sighed, and I took that as a sign to shut up. He was clearly not in the mood to talk about it all. I should've taken the hint earlier. We kissed before he left for class – all the way down at the science faculty. He had originally planned to return to his dorm room after dinner the previous day, but after what happened I insisted that he stay the night. I just didn't want him to be alone.
