The next day, Evan woke to a text from Aki.

  Aki: Are you free today? I want to show you my Tokyo. Not the tourist Tokyo — the one that feels like home.

  He didn’t even have to think about it.

  Evan: Name the time and place. I’m yours.

  They met at noon at Shimokitazawa Station, a cozy labyrinth of vintage shops, narrow alleys, and tiny cafés tucked between train tracks.

  “This was my high school hangout,” Aki said, leading the way through a maze of colorful murals and overflowing thrift stores. “Everyone else wanted to go to Shibuya. I liked it here better — it’s quieter. Weirder.”

  Evan laughed. “You really know how to sell a place.”

  But he meant it — he loved it already.

  There was something charming about the messiness of it all — vinyl records stacked next to secondhand sneakers, old bookstores crammed between tiny curry shops.

  They ducked into a record store where the smell of old paper and vinyl filled the air. Aki sifted through a crate of albums, her fingers moving expertly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Here,” she said, holding up a worn copy of a Beatles record. “British enough for you?”

  Evan grinned, pretending to study it seriously. “Very diplomatic choice.”

  They spent the afternoon wandering. Aki took him to a rooftop garden hidden above an unmarked café, where tomato plants grew in colorful plastic buckets and bees dozed lazily on sunflower heads.

  They shared a tiny table, sipping iced matcha lattes while the city buzzed softly far below.

  “Do you ever think about leaving Tokyo?” Evan asked, not quite sure why he needed to know.

  Aki watched a bee hover over her straw, thoughtful.

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But it would be hard. Tokyo’s a part of me. The good and the lonely parts.”

  Evan nodded, understanding more than he could say.

  They spent hours like that — losing time in quiet corners, laughing over silly things, getting to know each other without needing to fill every silence.

  At sunset, Aki tugged him down a hidden stairwell near Yoyogi Park.

  “Come on. I want to show you my favorite view.”

  They climbed and climbed — up a narrow fire escape, across a creaky rooftop, and finally to a small platform overlooking the sprawling city.

  The skyline shimmered, glass towers catching the last golden light. The air smelled faintly of asphalt and late summer rain.

  Evan stood there, breathless — not from the climb, but from the sight.

  From her.

  She turned to him, smiling, the wind catching her hair.

  “I used to come here when I needed to remember how big the world is,” she said. “How my problems are small. How there’s still so much I haven’t seen.”

  Evan wasn’t sure if it was the sunset or something in his chest that made everything feel so bright, so sharp.

  He stepped closer, feeling the air shift between them.

  “I’m really glad I saw this,” he said. “With you.”

  Aki’s smile faltered — not in a bad way, but like she was trying to hold back too many emotions at once.

  For a long moment, they just stood there, the city humming beneath their feet, the sky bleeding from gold to violet.

  Evan thought — just for a second — that if he leaned in, she wouldn’t pull away.

  But he didn’t.

  Not yet.

  Because somehow, he knew:

  When it happened, it had to be the right moment.

  The kind you could never fake or force.

  The kind that would live in your bones forever.

  And if today had taught him anything, it was this:

  With Aki, every moment was already a little bit forever.