The next morning, Evan was eating breakfast at a tiny café near his hotel — toast thick as a brick and coffee so strong it could wake the dead — when his phone buzzed.

  Aki: Are you up for a little adventure?

  He smiled instantly.

  Evan: Always. Where are we going?

  Aki: Kamakura. Meet me at Tokyo Station in 30 minutes?

  It wasn’t a question.

  It was a dare.

  Evan threw some yen on the table, grabbed his bag, and sprinted toward the station, heart pounding harder than it should have.

  They caught the Yokosuka Line just in time, squeezing into the crowded car and finding two seats side by side.

  The train rumbled to life, pulling them out of Tokyo’s dense sprawl and into stretches of green fields and small coastal towns.

  Aki leaned against the window, watching the scenery blur by.

  “I used to come here with my family when I was little,” she said, smiling at the memory. “It always felt like another world. Slower. Softer.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Evan listened, the rhythm of the train and her voice weaving something warm inside him.

  Outside the window, the ocean appeared — sudden and bright, sparkling under the late morning sun.

  He turned to Aki, the words on the tip of his tongue:

  I wish I’d known you back then.

  I wish I could have seen every version of you.

  Instead, he just said, “I’m glad I’m seeing it now.”

  Kamakura was postcard-perfect.

  Narrow streets lined with traditional houses.

  Small shops selling matcha ice cream and handmade pottery.

  And always, the smell of salt in the air.

  They visited the Great Buddha first, standing together in silent awe before the giant bronze statue, sunlight glinting off its serene face.

  Later, they wandered through bamboo groves so dense and tall that the sky disappeared above them, replaced by a world of green and shadow.

  Aki bought a tiny charm from a shrine — a pale blue one for safe travels — and tied it carefully to Evan’s backpack.

  “For your next journey,” she said, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

  Evan touched the charm, his throat tight.

  “Maybe my next journey will be coming back here,” he said, voice low.

  Aki looked at him then — really looked — and something passed between them.

  Something raw and unspoken.

  Neither of them said it out loud.

  Not yet.

  But it was there.

  By late afternoon, they made their way to the beach.

  The sand was warm beneath their bare feet, and the ocean stretched endless in front of them, blue and wide and shimmering.

  They walked along the water’s edge, shoes in hand, waves lapping at their ankles.

  At one point, Aki darted ahead, laughing, the breeze tugging at her skirt, hair whipping across her face.

  Evan chased after her without thinking, catching her hand just before she stumbled into a tide pool.

  Their fingers tangled, wet and sandy and real.

  Neither let go.

  They stood there, breathing hard, so close he could see the tiny freckles scattered across her nose, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

  “Aki,” he said, barely a whisper.

  She looked up at him, and he knew — this was the moment he had been waiting for.

  He leaned down.

  She rose onto her toes.

  Their lips met, soft and tentative, tasting of salt and sunshine and every word they hadn’t said yet.

  The world blurred away.

  There was only her.

  Only this.

  When they finally pulled apart, Aki rested her forehead against his chest, laughing breathlessly.

  “I guess…this means we’re officially making it count,” she said.

  Evan wrapped his arms around her, the ocean roaring behind them, the whole universe shrinking down to just the two of them.

  “Yeah,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “I think we really are.”