“Well, they did say something to me. Mom screamed that I’d ruin your life, and that you were way too good for me, and she basically reminded me how worthless she thought I was. Dad defended me, and they got into this massive fight. We were in the car and we got into an accident.”

“Oh my god, Kam. Is that why you refused to speak to me?”

“What? I didn’t refuse to speak to you.”

“I called you the night after your accident to see how you were doing. Your mother said you didn’t want to talk to me again. I believed her. So, I let it go. I thought…well…we didn’t need tension between our families. My brother and your sister were dating, and our fathers were business partners. I should have been there for you.”

Kamila exhaled. “It’s fine. My mother was wrong about me, anyway. I was in therapy for a while to help me understand that. And…” How could she explain this? “I want to make this work with you, Rohan. I do. But the thing is, that memory of you and me back then is kind of attached to a very bad memory for me. Lately, my brain has been getting it all jumbled and I’ve been feeling a lot of insecurity come back for…reasons. I’m going to start therapy again soon. Just so you know.”

He smiled small. “Thank you for being honest with me. We can go slow. Whatever you need.”

Kamila frowned. “Not too slow, I hope.”

He smiled. “And Kam? I think your mother was wrong.” He paused, looking deeply at her. This was a big mistake. She wanted to see him for real, not through a phone screen. “You were different back then,” he said. “You were a kid, and you were a ton of fun. No one took you seriously. But we talked a lot that summer—”

“Like we do now.”

“Yeah, like we do now. I saw something else in there during those talks. You were empathetic, and you understood people so well. You were so deeply kind and conscientious, and much smarter than people realized. We were in different stages of life, and maybe we both needed to grow up, but…I don’t think you would have ruined my life. I was definitely not too good for you—probably the opposite. Because the Kamila I fell in love with was in there, and I saw her back then.”

Kamila blinked. He saw her. She was twenty years old—a college dropout with no future and a giant chip on her shoulder. Everyone saw a delinquent, and he saw the best in her. She didn’t know what to say. She looked at him through the tiny screen on her phone.

“Say something, Kam. Are you crying?”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling. “I love you.”