Life has a way of creating distance. Months passed without any news of each other, and I made sure to keep it that way. I even asked my mom not to mention the Adien or anything about him.
College life at Juilliard was exactly the distraction I needed. Between chamber music rehearsals, private lessons, theory classes, and practicing six hours a day, I barely had time to think about the past. The vibrant energy of New York City had a way of drowning out old memories.
Looking back, it seemed almost laughable how I’d centered my entire world around one person. Ironically, I found myself agreeing with something Henry had once said – why tie yourself down so young when there’s a whole world to explore?
I was grateful for choosing Juilliard. Sure, the tiny practice rooms took some getting used to, and the competition was intense, but there was something magical about a place where music filled every corner. I’d already forgotten what high school concerts felt like.
During fall break, my old orchestra friend Emma visited the New York, and Melody and I took her to this amazing café near Lincoln Center. Inevitably, Henry’s name came up.
“He and Gianna barely lasted a month,” Emma said, stirring her mimosa. “Now he’s working his way through every female sports team at UMN. Total player. You wouldn’t even recognize him – completely different from the focused hockey star we knew in high school. It’s like watching someone have a quarter–life crisis at nineteen.”
I stayed quiet, pushing my croissant around the plate.
Melody shot Emma a warning look, quickly changing the subject to my upcoming recital.
On New Year’s Eve, Melody and I went to a rooftop party overlooking the Manhattan skyline. During the countdown, she nudged me to make a
wish.
It wasn’t until later that I realized something – for the first time, my wish had nothing to do with Henry. For six years straight, every birthday candle, every shooting star, every 11:11 had been about him. Now, I was finally writing my own musical score.
The real test came during winter break of freshman year.
Homesickness hit hard after finals, and I booked the first flight home I could get.
But walking through arrivals, my heart stopped. There, standing between our parents with that familiar half–smile, was Henry.
