For the next week, Tokyo became their city.
It wasn’t just Evan wandering its streets anymore — it was Aki leading him through the hidden layers of her world, one ordinary miracle at a time.
They met every morning, sometimes without even texting first, as if some invisible string pulled them toward each other.
Breakfast at tiny cafés where the owners knew Aki by name.
Afternoons spent riding rental bikes along the Meguro River, where the last stubborn sakura petals still clung to the trees, even in late spring.
Lazy evenings sprawled on grassy patches in Yoyogi Park, eating onigiri from konbini and laughing about nothing at all.
Everywhere they went, Evan noticed how Aki belonged to Tokyo — and how, somehow, she was making him belong too.
One afternoon, they found themselves back in the bookstore where they had first met.
It had been raining all morning, the kind of steady, silver rain that softened the city’s edges and turned every window into a watercolor painting.
The shop was warm and dry, smelling of old paper and roasted coffee beans from the café tucked in the back.
Aki drifted toward the travel section, running her fingers along the spines of guidebooks. Evan followed, pretending to browse but really just watching her.
“You always do that,” he said, smiling.
“Do what?”
“Touch the books like they’re old friends.”
Aki shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Books are safe,” she said. “They don’t leave.”
The words slipped out so naturally that Evan almost missed the way her voice caught on the last word.
He wanted to say something — to promise that he wouldn’t leave — but he couldn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he reached past her and pulled a slim, worn paperback off the shelf: The Little Prince in Japanese.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“You ever read this one?” he asked.
Aki smiled, taking the book from him.
“Of course. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine too,” Evan said. “I always loved the part about taming. How once you tame something, you’re responsible for it.”
Aki looked up at him then, the air thick between them.
Maybe it was just the rain.
Maybe it was the way the world outside seemed to disappear when they were together.
Or maybe — finally — it was the truth neither of them wanted to keep swallowing down.
“I think…” Aki said, voice trembling slightly, “I think you’ve already tamed me a little.”
Evan’s heart stuttered painfully against his ribs.
“And you,” he said, so softly he wasn’t sure if she heard it.
Later, they curled up in a booth in the bookstore’s café, sharing a single umbrella-shaped cookie and sipping hot cocoa with marshmallows.
Aki pulled a small notebook from her bag — the kind artists used, filled with blank pages — and began sketching absentmindedly.
Evan leaned over to see.
It was a drawing of two figures standing side by side under a giant paper lantern, hands almost — but not quite — touching.
“You draw too?” he asked, impressed.
Aki blushed, snapping the notebook shut. “Just little things. Doodles.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, meaning it.
She tucked the notebook back into her bag, cheeks pink.
Then, before she could lose her nerve, she slid something across the table to him — a small, crinkled flyer.
Fireworks Festival – Sumida River, Saturday Night.
“I thought…if you’re still here…maybe we could go together?”
Evan folded the flyer carefully, like it was something precious.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
But as they stepped out into the damp afternoon, a small shadow crept in.
Evan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was a message from his boss.
Flight home confirmed. Sunday morning.
The words stared up at him, cold and undeniable.
His chest tightened painfully.
Aki was humming softly beside him, swinging her umbrella back and forth like a kid.
She didn’t know yet.
And he didn’t want to ruin the day — this borrowed, perfect day — with the ticking clock.
Not yet.
Instead, he reached out and took her free hand, weaving their fingers together.
Aki looked up at him, surprised — and then her whole face lit up in a way that made Evan’s heart ache with something too big to name.
They walked like that through the drizzle — two people pretending the world wasn’t about to change.
And for that moment, it worked.
That evening, they found themselves at a tiny ramen shop tucked into a side street Evan never would have found on his own.
The place was barely bigger than a living room, with just eight counter seats and a steaming pot of broth that filled the air with mouthwatering warmth.
They sat elbow to elbow, slurping noodles and trading stories about the worst meals they’d ever had while traveling.
“In Spain, I once ate a squid so rubbery I’m pretty sure it’s still alive somewhere,” Evan said, making Aki laugh so hard she nearly snorted.
Aki wiped tears from her eyes. “In Osaka, I tried fugu once. I was so scared I was gonna die I couldn’t even taste it.”
Their laughter echoed in the small space, drawing a few amused glances from the other patrons.
But neither of them cared.
In that tiny ramen shop, surrounded by strangers, Evan felt like they were in their own little universe.
A universe where goodbyes didn’t exist.
When they finally stepped back into the night, the rain had stopped, and the city shimmered wet and bright under the streetlights.
They lingered outside the station, neither wanting to say goodnight.
“Thank you,” Aki said suddenly, squeezing his hand. “For…all of this.”
Evan brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead.
“No,” he said. “Thank you.”
There was so much more he wanted to say — about how she had changed everything, about how he didn’t know how to leave her behind — but the words tangled in his throat.
Instead, he kissed her.
Slow and lingering, with all the tenderness he couldn’t put into sentences.
When they pulled apart, Aki rested her forehead against his chest, just breathing.
They stayed like that for a long time, pretending they had forever.
Pretending the sunrise wasn’t coming.
