Before I moved, people seemed to place my relationship into one of two stories. The romantic story was that distance would prove how strong we were. The practical story was that university changes everyone and we should end things before one of us got hurt. Neither story left much space for two people who loved each other, wanted to try, and had no idea what trying would actually require. At first we communicated constantly. Photos of the room. Photos of food. Updates from every train. Names of new people with detailed explanations of who they were. We were trying to keep the distance from becoming silence. It became exhausting. I was experiencing Maastricht and simultaneously producing a live report of Maastricht. If I forgot to mention something, it looked important because I had mentioned everything else. If I went several hours without replying, the gap felt meaningful. We had built an expectation that normal life could continue through enough messages. Then jealousy entered in very ordinary forms. Not accusations, just questions with a little extra weight. Who was there? Do you go out with them often? Why have I not heard that name? I understood the fear because I had it too. Their life at home was also continuing without me, but it looked familiar enough that I underestimated the change. The hardest conversations were about happiness. When I struggled, they worried the move was harming me. When I had a great week, they worried I was growing into a life that had no place for them. I began editing both the good and the bad, which made our conversations safe and strangely empty. What helped was accepting that closeness would no longer mean complete information. We agreed that neither person needed to account for every hour. We started making actual plans for calls instead of treating permanent availability as proof of love. We also started saying the embarrassing thing directly: I feel left behind; I am afraid you will meet someone; I need you to be happy for me without asking what it means for us. I still do not know where the relationship is going. That uncertainty used to feel like failure. Now I think it is simply honest. University is not a test that our relationship passes or fails. We are two people changing under different conditions and deciding, repeatedly, whether we can keep meeting each other. If it ends, the effort was not foolish. If it continues, it will not be because distance made us pure and loyal. It will be because we learned to let each other have lives we could not fully witness.