You Changed Me

The confidence should have annoyed me. Instead, it made me want to believe him.

That night, I went to the photography lab with Maya to return a book. A group of students were drinking, playing music, and developing prints. Carey saw me and smirked.

“Looking for Nolan?”

“I’m returning a book.”

“He’s probably in one of the private rooms.”

“Doing what?”

She shrugged. “People say anything happens in there.”

Jason laughed. “The Friday lab parties have a reputation.”

I felt heat rise through me. Nolan came home from the lab smelling of smoke and chemicals. Sometimes he was drunk or stoned. He had never mentioned private rooms.

“You think he’s sleeping with other people?” Carey asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it.”

I left before she could say more.

At Senior House, Nolan was not in his room. I sat on his bed and tried to be rational. We had never called ourselves a couple. He did not owe me a report of every person he spoke to.

He arrived an hour later.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“For me?”

“Where were you?”

He set down his camera bag. “At the lab.”

“The private rooms?”

His expression changed. “Who told you?”

“People were talking.”

“People always talk.”

“Did you sleep with anyone?”

The question hung between us. He looked hurt before he looked angry.

“No.”

“Were you going to?”

“No.”

“How do I know?”

“You don’t.”

He turned away. “I’ve been trying to give you space.”

“I didn’t ask for space.”

“You said you weren’t ready.”

“I said I was afraid.”

“That sounded the same.”

I sat beside him. “I don’t know how to be with someone without losing myself.”

“Then don’t lose yourself.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

“I’m not asking you to become someone else.”

“You changed me.”

He looked at me. “Is that bad?”

“No. That’s why I’m scared.”

The truth softened him. He took my hand.

“The lab parties are loud and stupid,” he said. “I go because I’m new and because people there know photography. I don’t go looking for anyone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

I looked down at our hands. “I care too much.”

He smiled faintly. “That makes two of us.”

We went to the darkroom together. He showed me the private room, which contained only an enlarger, a sink, and a dozen drying photographs.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Carey made it sound like a scandal.”

“Carey is bored.”

He developed a print while I watched. The image slowly appeared: a streetlamp reflected in rainwater, a woman crossing beneath an umbrella.

“You make everything look important,” I said.

“Only when I care about it.”

He turned off the light. In the darkness, he found my hand.

“I’m not asking you to name us,” he whispered. “I’m asking you to tell me when you’re afraid.”

“And you’ll tell me when you’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it hurts?”

“Especially then.”

We kissed beside the drying photographs. It was not a solution, but it was a beginning.

The next morning, Professor Hale gave me a new bow. He said it was a loan until I could pay him back. I thanked him and told Nolan immediately.

Nolan frowned, then nodded. “Good.”

“You’re not jealous?”

“I’m practicing trust.”

I played for him that evening. The new bow made the notes fuller and steadier.

When I finished, he said, “You changed me, too.”

“How?”

“You made me understand that staying is an action.”

I leaned my head against him. For the first time, the word “us” did not feel like a trap. It felt like a place we could build together.

After that evening, I began visiting the lab with him. I did not drink the terrible coffee or understand the arguments about lenses, but I learned the names of the students. Carey stopped making jokes when Nolan was nearby. Jason never apologized, but he stopped looking at me as if I were an intruder.

Nolan showed me how to load a negative into the enlarger. I ruined the first sheet of paper by exposing it too long.

“You’re fired,” he said.

“I’m a volunteer.”

“Then you’re dismissed.”

I threw a wet towel at him. He laughed and kissed the chemical smell from my fingers.

The work was slow and precise. Under the red light, the world became smaller. There was only the image, the timing, and the choice to let the picture appear.

“Is that what you like about it?” I asked.

“You can’t rush the truth.”

“That sounds like something from a terrible poem.”

“I wrote terrible poems before I met you.”

“I know. Your mother told me.”

He groaned. “My family is a security risk.”

We stayed until midnight. When we walked home, he carried my cello case while I carried his camera bag.

“You don’t have to carry everything,” he said.

“Neither do you.”

He stopped beneath a streetlamp. “Do you trust me now?”

I thought about the rumor, the fear it had awakened, and the fact that I had come to him instead of inventing an answer alone.

“I trust you enough to ask.”

“That’s a good start.”

“Don’t get comfortable.”

He smiled. “Never.”

At my door, he handed me the cello. I touched his wrist before he could leave.

“I’m sorry I accused you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel you had to.”

“You didn’t.”

“I still want to do better.”

I kissed him and opened my door. The new bow rested against the wall, shining beneath the light.

The next day, I played until my fingers hurt. Nolan sat outside the room and listened. When I missed a note, I stopped.

“Again,” he called.

I started over.

The second time, I played through the mistake.

That was what he had changed in me. Not the desire to be perfect, but the courage to continue after I was not.

That night, I left the new bow beside my bed and kept Nolan’s photograph above it. Music and love no longer felt like competing claims.

For once, I could hold both without dropping either.

The next morning, I told Nolan before rehearsal that trust would take practice.

He smiled. “So will I.”