We fell in love over cups of coffee and study dates where we tossed lines of flirtatious Shakespearean dialogue back and forth, letting the bard speak our fledgling emotions. We spent entire afternoons playing songs for each other off our phones—our favorite artists; songs that reminded us of home; songs that reminded us of our happiest moments; even songs that reminded us of things we wanted to forget, but that strangely didn’t hurt to remember in each other’s company.
“Are you bitter about having to transfer?” I asked him several weeks into the semester when we were studying on the floor of my room, nacho crumbs strewn on the floor from our evening snack.
He looked up from his Shakespeare book and stared straight into my eyes. “I was. But not so much anymore.”
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