The cold wind whipped against my face like a slap as I struggled to close the door—a slap that mirrored the jolt of Maheem's unexpected presence in my home... or perhaps, more truthfully, his.

I trailed behind him as he wandered through the living room, his eyes scanning the brown wallpaper, the wooden floor, and the cream-colored walls. I searched his face, trying to decipher his thoughts—was it too dull? Too depressing? Tacky, maybe? Or did it feel suffocating and small to him?