The next morning, Evan found himself lingering at the little café near his hotel, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. His phone sat on the table, screen dark, waiting.

  He wasn’t sure what the rules were — how soon was too soon to ask her out again?

  Was it even a date? Did it matter?

  Before he could talk himself into — or out of — anything, his phone buzzed.

  It was a message from Aki.

  Aki: Hey! Hope you didn’t catch a cold from yesterday.

  There’s a small book festival happening today at Ueno Park… Would you maybe want to go?

  Evan smiled so wide the barista gave him a curious glance.

  Evan: I’d love to. When and where?

  They met under the tall bronze statue of Saigo Takamori, the “last samurai,” at the entrance to Ueno Park.

  Aki wore a light yellow skirt and a simple white blouse, and she carried a small canvas tote bag — probably for the books, Evan guessed.

  “You made it!” she said brightly, waving.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Evan said, meaning it more than she probably realized.

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  The park was lively, scattered with colorful tents and food stalls. Authors sat behind long tables, signing worn paperbacks. Kids chased each other with balloon animals.

  The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and sweet dango.

  “Look at this,” Aki said, tugging him toward a stand where an old woman sold handmade bookmarks pressed with tiny real flowers.

  Evan watched her browse, her fingers brushing lightly over each delicate piece.

  Something about the way she moved — so present, so careful — made his chest tighten.

  He bought one with a small sprig of lavender sealed inside.

  “For your next favorite book,” he said, handing it to her.

  Aki looked surprised — then touched — as she accepted it.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice softer.

  They wandered through the festival, stopping to sample taiyaki stuffed with chocolate, flipping through piles of secondhand novels stacked in cardboard boxes.

  Evan bought a worn copy of Norwegian Wood after Aki swore it was a rite of passage for any romantic soul visiting Tokyo.

  At one point, a sudden gust of wind knocked over a display, sending books tumbling.

  They both rushed to help, laughing as they chased loose pages across the grass.

  By late afternoon, they found themselves sprawled out on a quiet patch of lawn, resting in the shade of a sprawling sakura tree.

  Their tote bags bulged with new treasures; their shoes were kicked off carelessly nearby.

  “You have good taste,” Evan said, flipping through one of Aki’s finds — an illustrated collection of fairy tales from around the world.

  “I like stories that feel a little bit like magic,” she said, stretching her arms over her head. “Ones that make you believe the world is bigger, kinder…more surprising than you thought.”

  Evan turned that over in his mind.

  “I think meeting you might be a little bit like that,” he said without thinking.

  Aki’s cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away.

  Instead, she tucked her legs up beneath her and asked, “How much longer are you in Tokyo?”

  The question hit heavier than he expected.

  “Two more weeks,” Evan said quietly.

  Aki nodded, her gaze dropping to the grass.

  It wasn’t long.

  And yet, somehow, it felt like just enough time to change everything.

  “Then,” she said, looking back up with a brave little smile, “we should make it count.”

  Evan’s heart thudded hard against his ribs.

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  And there, under the sprawling cherry tree with the world bustling gently around them, an unspoken agreement settled between them:

  To chase this fragile, wild thing they were building — with open hands, open hearts — for however long they were given.