I awake the following morning with no physical side effects other than slight dryness of the mouth and a lingering thrill that tingles throughout my body. Krista is seated on the edge of her bed, tying her running shoes, and she glances up at me when she notices my eyes are open.

"Hey, you! You got in late. Fun night?" Her husky voice emanates carefree enthusiasm.

"Yeah," I croak out, my throat scratchy. "We were celebrating a friend's birthday."

"I thought you didn't drink," she comments, her lips upturning in amusement, as if she is proud of me. "Was that your first time?"

I shift in my bed, uneasy. How does she know I drank last night?

"Um, yeah, that was the first. Did I disturb you coming in?" My voice is small and tentative.

"No," she chuckles. "I just heard you and your friends talking outside in the hall, and it was obvious guys had been partying. Did you have fun?" She squints her curious eyes in a slight expression of mischief.

I release a giggle. "Yeah."

"Good for you! You'll have to come with us next time we go out."

I gulp. The thought of partying with Krista and the crew intimidates me; at the same time, I'm pleased by the invitation.

After showering and downing an entire bottle of water, I head to breakfast. I cross paths with Joshua on the way, and he engages me in almost the same generic manner he always does, except there's a subtle layer of shyness hanging in his features.

I'm uncertain how the conversation unfolds, but we agree to go running together later that afternoon.

After leaving the Bon, I decide to take a walk to process last night's events before beginning my Spanish essay. There is a beautiful cemetery a half-mile from campus. As I stroll the steep paths, passing marbled grey and beige tombstones, I'm bursting with feelings so vibrant it almost seems inappropriate to remain in this setting.

An elderly man catches my eye and engages me as I jaunt past him.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?"

Strangers obliging me to participate in small-talk is one of my greatest fears, but today, I look at the man straight in the face with glittering eyes.

"It's so lovely," I return.

I climb the steepest incline as dry pine needles twirl from the trees above and rain into my hair. The sun sears into me as I reach the top, out of breath, taking in the sight of rich grassy glades rippling in every direction and a sliver of the cloud-speckled city on the horizon. I stop in the middle of the pathway to peck out a cringy poem on the Notes app of my phone, feeling inspired.

Slipping my cell phone into my back pocket, an unexpected notion bubbles up inside me. I'm possessed by the urge to text Alex. An absurd sense of boldness overtakes me, and I can picture myself acting out the fantasy in real life. I could actually do this.

I play it out in my mind for twenty minutes or so, following the ribbon of cream cement through the park. Every so often, I pass people who are in the cemetery for its designated use; I ponder whether strolling through this space—for exercise, contemplating the beauty of nature and fantasizing about my crushes—is sacrilegious or simply an exquisite participation in life's paradoxes.

My heart is pounding in my chest by the time I reach my dorm room, because I already know what I'm about to do, despite my own better judgment.

Hey Alex. I was thinking about you. Hope your trip to Costa Rica went smoothly, and I hope your brother is doing alright.

I flip open my laptop and press the power button with a shaky index finger. All the worst case scenarios flash through my head in succession, and realizing I can handle any of them, I smile at my own stupid courage and begin typing away on my Spanish assignment.

Twenty minutes later, my phone pings several times, causing my whole body to lose sensation in an instant.

Natalia!!

Wow, it's wonderful to hear from you.

How's college life?

My heart is pounding, raw and exposed; I realize I have just re-opened myself to hope and potential disappointment. With a hint of dread in the pit of my stomach, I vaguely note the lack of emojis in his responses. Shaking the thought aside, I focus on the excitement of being connected to Alex once again.

I'm loving college, now that I've gotten settled in. At first I was really homesick.

Are you still in Costa Rica?

I thrum my fingers lightly over the plastic keyboard of my laptop, the clickety-clack filling the silence as I wait for Alex's next message. A brief daydream of him visiting me here in Oregon invades my brain like an over-perfumed pink cloud, and I shake it away with an audible snort.

No, I stayed through the summer then came back to Cali. My brother isn't doing great, but at least I was able to see him.

I'm really glad you love college.

Nati, I owe you an apology.

My mind spins as I debate whether to respond to the information about his brother or wait for him to elaborate on his last text.

For what? I ask.

It takes him a while to respond, the three dots taunting me in the interim.

It was never my intention not to write to you after I left. That's on me and has nothing to do with you.

I don't have an excuse but I can tell you the reason, if you care to know.

I swallow hard and decide on honesty, since he is being so open with me. He melts down my barriers and always has.

I care.

This conversation is stirring up a dangerous longing like hot vapor in my stomach.

Well, first off I'm an idiot and left my phone in the airport, not realizing until the plane had already departed for CR. My friend recovered it for me a few days later, and... to be honest, I asked him to check if I'd received any texts from a girl called Nati.

My insides flip around worse than a trout on the end of a fish hook.

This was a week after I'd left, by that point. Then I started thinking maybe I should just leave you alone, and I was wrapped up in everything with my brother and feeling pretty depressed by that point.

My mind is turning the information over in frantic circles.

I don't mean to presume, but I think you liked me back, and I guess that was your first experience with a guy, so I feel pretty shitty about ghosting you. I'm sorry. I thought about you a ton.

And I have to tell you that I have a girlfriend now. Again, I don't want to assume the reason why you reached out to me today, but I want to be straightforward with you.

The air deflates from my lungs as if someone has pressed a needle to an overinflated balloon. I'm attempting to process the phrase "liked me back," and in a matter of seconds I'm slammed with the reality that Alex has a girlfriend.

I feel foolish and happy and crushed all at once, and I just sit there clutching the phone in my sweaty palm, my thumbs hovering, indecisive, over the lit-up keyboard.

That was a lot of information, I type, adding a smiley face with a sweat drop emoji for levity.

Thanks for explaining. Yes, I did like you back, and to be honest I was disappointed when I didn't hear from you. I understand, though.

I'm not sure what the protocol is for removing oneself from a text conversation with a crush who has just informed you they have a girlfriend. Minutes before, I was falling back into a comfortable rhythm of communication with Alex, overjoyed at reconnecting with him. Now, I am anxious to extract myself from the situation. I feel as if I am intruding on his life, as though I opened the door to his living room where he and his partner were peacefully watching a movie and snacking on popcorn together.

Sorry about this—I wouldn't have texted if I had known you had a girlfriend.

He begins typing immediately, and I'm touched by his attentiveness and honesty during this text exchange, despite the fact he is no longer interested in me.

That's silly, Nati, don't be sorry. I'm glad to hear from you and to know you're doing well. I just really hope I didn't hurt your feelings. You're such a sweet, unique girl. See ya around.

I smile, no longer feeling crushed.

Thanks. I'm good, I promise. See ya.

* * *

I intentionally forget to take out my earrings before meeting Joshua to go running that afternoon.

As I wait for him to answer my knock, my head explodes for the hundredth time today at the fact that Alex told me directly that he liked me and he thought about me.

Half of me wonders if I am being naïve, if his story about losing his phone was honest, if I am actually supposed to be angry at him—not forgiving—for blowing me off so easily and then getting a girlfriend. But I have always had an impression of Alex as sincere and transparent, and I choose to believe everything that he told me in his texts.

"Come on in." Joshua ushers me inside. "I'm just about ready."

He sits on his bed to tie his tennis shoes while I stand awkwardly in the middle of his room.

"Shall we?" he asks.

I run the fingers of both hands over my earlobes, caressing the translucent shapes of colored glass and pretending I have just realized I'm wearing them.

"Oh, can I leave my earrings here so I don't lose them running?" I ask, slipping them out.

"Of course." Joshua gestures to his desk, where I lay the jewelry with a delicate motion. Leaving a piece of myself in his space.

We stride to the edge of campus and cross the street towards Tryon hiking trail. Once on the pathway, amongst the lush canopy of pine trees and overgrown berry bushes, we begin our jog. Adrenaline propels me to run faster than normal, and our paces seem to match one another's. After a solid twenty minutes, we slow to a walk, catching our breath as a light mist filters through the verdant tunnel of plants.

"Do you go by 'Josh' at all?" I ask out of the blue.

"No, I've always gone by my full name," he responds in a neutral tone.

"That's fitting," I remark, possessed by an inexplicable urge to poke fun at him. "You're a very proper type of person."

He sort of laughs, and then to my delight, Joshua jabs me back. "How about you? How is one awarded the pleasure of using your nickname?"

I realize he calls me "Natalia" exclusively.

"Only special people can use my nickname," I banter back, feeling cute despite the inanity of the conversation.

In an unexpected move, Joshua pokes at my rib cage, causing me to squeal and giggle. I'm extremely ticklish.

"And am I in the special category of people who can use your nickname?"

Apparently enjoying my exaggerated reaction, he prods me with his index finger a second time, and I jolt back. Without overthinking, I attack his side near his armpit with squiggly fingers, but his reaction is minimal. He clearly isn't ticklish, but his lips quiver into a half-smile at my attempt.

We're going back and forth at each other now in quick succession, and I think we have both lost track of the conversation, how this started or what we are trying to accomplish through our little game. The latter comes into clear focus for me when Joshua transitions from spidering his fingers across my back to pulling me into a tight hug. It catches me by surprise, and I wrap my arms around him to reciprocate. He's got his whole body pressed up against mine, and he lets out a heavy breath.

"So, can I call you Nati?" he hums low into my hair, and this is becoming the longest embrace in the history of awkward college flirting.

"Of course," I squeak.