Indigo started to see a therapist last month, and they’ve really helped her progress. I’m not supposed to know about it, but Liv told me so I’d be patient with her. I don’t see it that way, though. I don’t need to be patient with Indigo. After a day spent with her, I’m never tired or eager to get home. Quite the opposite.

She’s still human. Why treat her differently when what she clearly wants is normalcy?

While I still don’t know why it’s so hard for her to communicate and express her feelings, she’s clearly working hard to get there.

“Why the cold shoulder?” I ask. “Is it because of us almost kissing?” I go straight to the point. I don’t try to beat around the bush. An article on the internet said that when people speak to a person with social anxiety, they tend to wrap things in a pretty package, which is the last thing you should do. It’s best to show them the reality.

She takes a deep breath, bites her lower lip, and nods.

“I’m sorry.” I lower my head, feeling guilty for her attitude these past few days. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not your fault.”

We stare at each other as she struggles to find the words for whatever she’s holding inside.

And I wait.

I let her look at me, analyze my entire face, my body language, anything that would give her the time to think and rethink before finally speaking. When it comes to me, Indigo has all the time in the world and more. It’s just that she doesn’t know it yet.

She lets out a frustrated laugh, massaging her temples with the tips of her fingers. Her hands tremble and although my body hurts from working all day, I don’t relax back into the couch, afraid that any movement could make her take a step back.

“It’s scary,” she whispers, a tremor in her voice.

“Us kissing?”

Indigo raises her head from her palms. “Yeah.” She shrugs, gaze on the ceiling.

We sit quietly. Me looking at her, grateful she isn’t wearing her contacts so I can see her true self, and Indigo looking everywhere but me.

“I wanted to kiss you too,” she mumbles, glancing at me.

A little smile finds its way to my face. “Is it bad now it’s real?”

I’d hate to hear her say yes, and that terrifies me. It’s been a little over half a year since Ava and I broke up, but we never had to work on our relationship. We were just together.

“It’s scary,” she repeats, finally facing me.

“It is.” I nod, thinking the same.

“But this,” she points between us, back and forth, “will only make things complicated.”

“Maybe.”