Chapter 1 — 3:07 AM

Inaaya almost smiled. It was the correct philosophy. At Manny's at 3 AM, you ordered the worst version of things because that was honest.She looked up.He was maybe thirty-two, thirty-three. South Asian — she'd clocked it in the voice before she saw the face. Dark hair that needed cutting, not stylishly but genuinely. A jacket that was good quality and looked like it had been slept in. The specific look of someone who usually put themselves together well and had recently stopped trying.He was looking at the counter. Not at her.She looked back at her coffee.Dana put his cup in front of him.He drank it in the particular way of someone who was not tasting it.They sat in parallel silence for three minutes, which Inaaya counted without meaning to, the way you count things when your brain needs something to do.Then he said, without preamble and without looking at her:"Does it get better? The not sleeping."She kept her eyes on her mug. "How do you know I'm not sleeping?""Because it's three AM and you're here and you look like someone who is usually somewhere else at three AM." A pause. "Same reason you can probably guess about me."She considered this. It was accurate. She turned her mug a quarter turn."It levels off," she said. "You stop expecting sleep and then the insomnia is less — aggressive. It's still there but it stops feeling like a fight.""That's not the same as better.""No," she said. "It's not."Another silence. Comfortable, which was strange given they were strangers. But Manny's at 3 AM had its own rules about what was comfortable."How long?" he asked."Six weeks. You?""Four days." A pause that was doing a great deal of work. "Although the six weeks before that I was sleeping fine for the wrong reasons."She understood this without requiring elaboration."I'm Arjun," he said. He still hadn't looked at her. They were both addressing the counter."Inaaya.""Inaaya," he repeated. The way people repeated names when they were actually listening. "That's—""My grandmother's name," she said. "I know.""I was going to say it suits you, but I realize I have no basis for that."She almost smiled again. Twice in one night. That was something."How would you know if a name suited someone?"He thought about it, which she appreciated — people who thought before answering. "I think names are like clothes. Some people grow into them and some people are always slightly fighting against them."She turned this over. "Which are you?""Fighting against," he said. "Arjun means 'bright' or 'silver.' I am neither of those things currently.""Currently," she said."Currently," he agreed.She finished her coffee. She didn't leave. She didn't know why she didn't leave. She signaled Dana for another cup."Is this your place?" he asked. "The regular here?""Six weeks.""Can I stay? I don't mean—" He stopped. Tried again. "I just mean, if this is your space, I can find somewhere else."She looked at him properly then, for the first time. He was looking at her now too. He had the eyes of someone who was usually warm and was currently running a colder temperature. Not unkind. Just — depleted."The counter has twelve stools," she said. "Stay."He nodded.They sat there until four-fifteen, not talking much, mostly just being two people in the same lit space in the middle of the night. When she finally stood to leave, he said: "Same time tomorrow?"She pulled on her jacket. "I'm always here.""I might be," he said.She went home through the empty streets. She slept for three and a half hours.It was the most she'd slept in six weeks.