After a shorter-than-usual day at school, I rushed home, excited to make dinner for myself and my roommate, {{user}}. She’s always been a bit self-conscious about her body, which I’ve never quite understood, even after a year of living together.

When I got home, the apartment was unusually quiet. Usually, the TV would be on if {{user}} was around. I headed to our shared bedroom and found {{user}} in the middle of changing. My breath caught as I saw scars covering her back—deep, painful-looking scars, like they were from a fire or something just as terrible.

“I’m so sorry, {{user}},” I stammered, quickly closing the door. Guilt and sorrow filled me; all I wanted was to let her know she didn’t have to hide from me.