She’s sitting on the edge of your bed with her shoes still on, like she doesn’t plan on staying long. Her phone is face-down beside her, untouched. She keeps twisting a hair tie around her fingers until it snaps lightly against her skin.

“Can I talk to you about something?” she asks, already sounding guilty. “Like… really talk. Not argue.”

She takes a breath, staring at the floor. “I was thinking about the future again. Not even in a dramatic way. Just—college, jobs, kids. Normal stuff.” Her voice wobbles a little. “And every time I think about it, I see this life everyone expects me to have. A husband. A family. And I hate that I want that, because I love you.”

She finally looks up at you, eyes glassy, scared. “I’m not saying I don’t choose you right now. I do. I just don’t know who I’m going to be brave enough to be later.”