I fell for my neighbor, and he's now my boyfriend. We struggle with boundaries since we live so close to each other.

• When my neighbor moved in, we slowly became friends and realized we had a deep connection.
• Once we admitted to having feelings for each other, we needed to set boundaries to avoid rushing.
• We realized the boundaries weren't working, so we went all in on our relationship.

Every couple has a prepared response to the question, "So, how'd you two meet?"

Whenever I get asked this, I always give a short and sweet answer: "He moved in next door to me."

The long answer is much more complicated and tumultuous.

Honestly, my boyfriend and I took a bold leap of faith, fully aware that we were either on the brink of something beautiful or setting ourselves up for a mess.

But when a stranger moved into an apartment next door, it was the start of something special.

I met my new neighbor and thought nothing of it

When I returned home from a long day, it was past 1 a.m., and I noticed someone moving in.

A symptom of my nosey nature, I offered him a friendly "Hi. Welcome to the building!" Really, I was using the introduction as a facade to hide my true intention: peering into the layout of a neighboring unit.

I was in a relationship at the time, and I know how antisocial I feel at the end of a move-in day, so the interaction was brief. But that was technically the first time I met Greg.

A couple of months passed with just occasional half-waves. But then Greg overheard a conversation between my then-boyfriend and me at the jacuzzi about someone we all knew.

For a moment, we all bonded, exchanged Instagrams, and moved on.

We then became friends, and a connection was formed

Another few months passed, my prior relationship had ended, and Greg and I became friends.

What began as extending Greg an invitation to plans with our mutual neighbors instantly and innocently flourished.

He'd sought my guidance on dates, and I even tried to set him up with my friends. We quickly found ourselves caring deeply about each other.

We had a relentlessly undeniable connection. Friends noticed our chemistry, and others asked how long we'd been together, giving a knowing look when we clarified we were "just friends."

But I tried my best to ignore it for a number of reasons: We were great friends, we were both recently out of relationships, and most glaringly, we lived next door.

It wasn't until one night — sober and reckless — that I gave in. I told him: "I kind of want you to kiss me."

There was no going back.

We tried to keep our distance

Suddenly, we were neighbors who were also dating. However, he was also casually dating another girl. I knew it was best to let him figure it out on his own, but seeing him daily while he dated someone else became increasingly difficult.

We felt very "together," much sooner than we wanted to admit. Though I wanted him to "pick me, choose me, love me," I resisted becoming Meredith Grey.

We realized that we had to create distance to avoid rushing our relationship. We thought: Maybe we shouldn't combine our routines of suntanning, smoothie walks, making dinner, and watching rom-coms together.

On occasion, we drew lines in the sand — or hallway.

Hearing his TV while taking out the trash, I'd soon knock on his door with a weak excuse to see him. And if I was really strong, super disciplined, and put myself to sleep early to avoid temptation, his knocking would wake me up in the morning before he left for work.

After we broke our own boring rules enough times, we abandoned them. Greg and I met in an exceptionally unique circumstance. We are always steps away from one another. It is easy to be around each other at all times and more difficult to be alone.

We had the "codependency," "too-soon," and "too-fast" conversations, and they always concluded with "inapplicable," "sounds annoying," and "unnecessary."

Ultimately, each version of trying to move responsibly with our feelings felt worse than anything else.

We are now together today

When I meet Greg's friends, and they ask the question, we'll share our story, and they'll exclaim, "This is the hot neighbor?!" I'll laugh, affirming that I was — and still am — the girl next door.

Today, Greg and I may have separate beds and addresses, but we share more than just a wall. If our next phase doesn't include living together, it will be the first time we haven't shared a home.

Our situation demands unique conversations, and while they may be unconventional, they're exactly what makes our bond so strong. In the end, it's not the walls that define us but how we navigate the space between them.