The train ride back to Tokyo was quieter.

  Not awkward — never awkward — but filled with a new kind of silence.

  A good kind.

  A golden, buzzing silence that wrapped around them like a secret.

  Aki dozed lightly against Evan’s shoulder as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bleeding hues of crimson and violet.

  Evan sat still, afraid to even breathe too loudly, afraid to wake her — and somehow even more afraid that he would.

  He stared out the window at the blur of lights, feeling the press of her hand against his, their fingers loosely laced.

  Everything felt so fragile.

  So perfect.

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  He wanted to bottle the moment, to hold onto it forever.

  But time, he realized, was moving — rushing forward whether they were ready or not.

  Back in Tokyo, the streets were neon bright and alive, a sharp contrast to the dreamlike haze they carried with them from Kamakura.

  “I should get home,” Aki said when they reached the station. Her voice was soft, almost reluctant.

  Evan nodded, though every cell in his body screamed stay.

  “Walk you to the gate?” he offered.

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  They walked side by side, their hands brushing occasionally, each touch sending little electric currents through Evan’s skin.

  When they reached the entrance, Aki turned to him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I had a really good day,” she said.

  “Me too,” Evan said. His voice was a little rougher than he meant it to be.

  For a second, neither of them moved.

  Then — almost shyly — Aki leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

  “Good night, Evan,” she whispered.

  And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like a wisp of smoke.

  Evan stood there long after she disappeared, hand pressed to his cheek, smiling like an idiot.

  That night, he couldn’t sleep.

  He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every laugh, every glance, every kiss.

  And beneath all the happiness, there was a quiet ache growing — the realization that soon, he would have to leave.

  Would they survive the distance?

  Could something this new, this fragile, last when oceans and time zones stretched between them?

  He didn’t know.

  But as he drifted off to sleep, one thought settled in his chest like an anchor:

  It was worth the risk.

  For her, he would risk anything.