I moved to the same city as my long-distance boyfriend. Everyone expected us to move in together, but we didn't.

A year after meeting my boyfriend in college at San Diego State University, we entered the scary territory of a long-distance relationship when he moved to Illinois for his Ph.D. program, and I stayed in California.

Whenever I visited him, I would stay for weeks at a time, and we very quickly got good at pretending we lived together: walking around Aldi, making popcorn for movie nights, and working on our laptops at a local coffee shop.

The only difference was that eventually, I’d have to pack my suitcase and get on a plane.

So when I got into Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism and realized I was moving to the same city as my boyfriend, I contemplated whether we should live together, for real this time.

And honestly, everyone else assumed we would.

But instead of living together, I signed a one-year lease with two girls I’d never met.

A few months before I moved to Chicago, I talked to my boyfriend about my decision to live separately.

Neither of us was thrilled about spending more time apart, but I explained that wanting my own apartment had nothing to do with us.

I just needed this move to feel like my moment, not necessarily both of ours.

Plus, I didn’t want my first year in Chicago to automatically become our first year living together.

My mom, meanwhile, seemed convinced I was overcomplicating things.

She wasn’t against my plan, but she just couldn’t understand why I’d go through the trouble when I already had a perfectly good boyfriend with an apartment.

When I told friends I was moving to Chicago, I inevitably had to clarify that, no, I wasn’t moving in with my boyfriend.

However, I explained that I only knew Chicago through him, tagging along to his favorite places, and letting him lead the way.

I wanted the chance to discover my own favorite coffee shop or go-to Pad Thai order.

More importantly, building friendships, especially female friendships, has always been really important to me.

And if I lived with my boyfriend, I knew I could very easily spend most of my free time with him.

Even though that sounded amazing after doing long-distance, I worried it might prevent me from putting myself out there.

Through one of my boyfriend’s friends, I was connected with two girls who were also moving to Chicago at the same time I was.

They needed to fill a room, and the apartment was mere blocks away from his.

In the three months since moving, it’s been really fun building my own life here.

I picked out a kitchen table on Facebook Marketplace.

I decorated my shoebox-sized bedroom with polka-dot curtains and magazine racks.

I became close with my roommates, who went from two strangers to some of my best friends.

Now, my boyfriend comes over and squeezes onto our couch with all of us.

When the night ends, we’ll grab McDonald’s ice-cream cones and the two of us will walk back to his place together.

We still see each other basically every day.

Sometimes it’s tavern-style pizza on a Wednesday.

Sometimes it’s a stroll along the Riverwalk after class.

The difference is that it’s a choice we make, rather than a default we fall into because we share a lease.

There’s a practical piece of this, too.

We’re both building our own lives, and neither of us knows exactly what comes next.

After grad school, I could end up in New York, which would mean another round of long-distance.

Or, I could stay in Chicago, in which case we’ll revisit living together.

Overall, I moved to Chicago for journalism, a new city, and the chance to figure out what comes next for me.

My boyfriend just happened to be here already.

I moved for myself, but love made the move feel like home.