Emily leaves for her summer internship next week and asked if she could see me before she went. I agreed immediately—we’d barely talked since texting about my dad when he was in the hospital and I couldn’t tell if she had been giving me space out of respect for my need for family time, or if she was trying to avoid talking to me so she didn’t have to do the hard part of ending things for good.

So when I met her in the Common today, I was sure that this was it—another nail in another coffin of my disastrous year. But, much to my surprise, she really just wanted to talk. To truly hash things out.

“I don’t think I ever really got over the fact that you had looked into my head, seen all of those private pieces of me, and I had no idea,” she explained.

“I know.” I nodded. “And I’m so, so sorry. But I promise you, I would never do that again.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about, Rose,” she said. “I just…” She swallowed, looking out over the Common, and I could see a pinprick tear at the corner of her eye. “I’m not sure I even really know who you are, Rose.”

It felt like a lance through the heart, even if I knew she was right.

“You do though—” I started weakly, but she shook her head.

“It’s not like I expected to know everything about you right away, but…” She took another deep breath.

“I’m not sure it’s possible to know a person completely,” she continued after a moment. “And that’s fine. That’s life. And there are things that you don’t know about me, things I’m not sure I’ll ever share with anyone.”

“I want you to share everything with me,” I pleaded. “Everything you want to share.”

“I know.” She smiled softly and I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or pitying. I hated that I couldn’t read her expressions in that moment, like coming forward with my secret had pushed her into hiding somehow.

“But it’s unrealistic to believe that we’ll share everything with each other,” she said. “Or even that we’ll share all of the harder stuff right now. I mean, we’ve only known each other for eight months—”

“I know,” I jumped in, “but I really, really like you. I don’t care that it’s only been eight months, the way I feel about you—”

“I know,” she said, grabbing my hand and holding it in both of hers. “I know, I feel the same way.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” I asked. “It sounds like you’re…”