The next day was Thursday. Classes were set to begin on Monday, giving us four more days to get accustomed to our new place. We planned to use the time to explore the surroundings.

I woke up first and went to the bathroom, which was just big enough for one person, then stepped outside into the yard. The town was dead silent, the air chill and pressing. I could see a few other houses on the horizon, along with the main intersection leading to the town’s main road. I counted three cars within ten minutes of standing there. A two-lane road stretched in front of the house, each lane wide enough for one or two cars. The asphalt had cracks in places, but it was safe enough for a small-town road like that. Across the street were two houses nearly identical to ours. It occurred to me that I could come home wasted one night, confuse the houses, and scare the hell out of the neighbors.

There were more houses about a hundred meters along each side of the road, each neatly outlined with a green lawn. A kid was playing in one of the yards, about four or five years old. I forgot about exploring for a moment, put on my widest grin, and watched him drag his Spider-Man model in the bed of a yellow toy dump truck. A woman came out of the house soon after and grabbed his dirty hand. She stared at me for a couple of seconds, then they both went inside. It was a small town, and I figured we looked like unpolished exhibition models.

Cleaning the place took up the entire day. Anush tidied up her hair, found an old rag, and danced around the house, wiping the furniture clean. Yesayi grabbed a broom and attacked the cobwebs clinging to the walls; the dust on them suggested the spiders had been dead for a while.

Near the bookshelf in the hallway stood another cupboard, its legs worn and discolored, leaning like the Tower of Pisa.

“Can you give me a cloth, too, Anush?” I yelled from the hallway.

A tearing sound followed. Anush emerged from her room, holding a tattered white rag.

“This okay?”

“Looks fine, thanks.”

Anush went back to her room, and I started wiping down the cupboard. One of the drawers was stubborn, but after some effort, it opened to reveal a Victorian-style top hat. We’d only met the landlord yesterday. The hat was probably left by a previous tenant or belonged to one of the landlord’s relatives. I hung it on one of the silver hooks and went back to cleaning the cupboard. I had to walk to the kitchen twice to rinse the rag in the sink.

“Could you come here for a second, Yesayi?” I called out when I finally had a spotless cupboard before me, a filthy rag in hand, and a thundering pulse in my veins.

“What’s up?” he asked, poking his head through the living room door.

“Let’s move this to the living room so we can use it for our clothes.”

We moved it slowly, careful not to scratch the floor, and placed it by the window. Then we dragged our suitcases over - mostly filled with clothes, books, and notebooks - and packed them into the cupboard.

“Can we come in, Anush?” I asked when we were done.

“Sure.”

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The old-fashioned mattress sagged noticeably. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, careful not to touch her face with her gloves, and sighed heavily.

“That’s it, I think.”

“Nothing to help you with?”

“No, I’m done. You?”

“Yeah. Just need to take out the trash, and we’re done too.”

“I’ve got a bag of trash here myself.”

Yesayi took the plastic bag that Anush had leaned against the closet door and carried it out to the hall.

“What should we do now? Maybe take a walk outside? Grab something to eat?” I suggested.

“Yeah, I’m hungry. A walk sounds good too,” Yesayi replied, re-entering the room.

“Good. Just let me freshen up,” Anush said, heading to the bathroom.

“You’ll do our clothes too, won’t you?” Yesayi joked, loud enough for Anush to hear.

“I could iron them too if you want,” Anush called back.

“Oh, then I’d gladly call you a housewife.”

“And whose house are we talking about here?”

“Well, mine, for example.”

“No thanks, you’re not my type, Yesayi.”

“Fine, fine, forget the clothes.”

“Clothes are fine, just saying you’re not my type,” Anush said, sneering.

Yesayi didn’t say anything else. He walked over to the small closet drawer in the room and picked up the passport lying there, placing it on his palm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Anush asked, returning to the room and seeing her passport in Yesayi’s hands.

“Can I see your photo?”

“You seem to really like me now, huh?” Anush asked with a sly smile.

“No, it’s not that. I just like looking at passport photos. I saw Daniel’s - he looks like a tiny Simba from The Lion King. Show it to Anush while I check out hers,” Yesayi said, glancing at me.

“Get lost, we’re not playing your games,” I said, looking out the window.

“How do you have such a beautiful photo, Anush? Everyone else looks like the worst version of themselves in their passport.”

His voice had a pleasant ring to it. I was facing the other way and couldn’t see Anush’s reaction.

“Wait a minute,” Yesayi said suddenly. “Khosrovanush… Khosrovanush Mikayelyan?”

I turned around, unsure of what was happening.

“Your name is Khosrovanush?” Yesayi asked cheerfully, still focused on her passport.

“Yes. My dad named me after my grandma, but everyone’s always called me Anush,” she said, snatching the passport from his hands with a quick, almost defiant motion.

“That’s one unique name,” I said.

“Beautiful name, he’s right, Miss Khosrovanush,” Yesayi added with a smile.

“I’m not sure I like it. I still prefer Anush,” she replied, then walked out of the room.

“Yesayi?” I whispered.

“What?”

“Planning on sending her a bouquet?” I asked with a grin.

“Drop it. She’s cute, true, but the ‘not my type’ thing goes both ways,” Yesayi said, winked at me, and bolted out.

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