The second bowl of ramen arrived steaming hot, and this time, it was safely placed in front of Aki.

  They had found a quieter street food stall tucked into a side alley just a few blocks from the chaos of Shibuya Crossing. The air here smelled of grilled soy sauce, green onions, and the distant trace of summer rain.

  Aki leaned forward, chopsticks poised, and gave Evan a playful glance.

  “Don’t knock it over this time,” she teased.

  Evan grinned, hands raised in surrender.

  “Promise. Hands far, far away from your bowl.”

  They both laughed, and for a moment, the city noise melted into the background. The soft glow of lanterns above them cast gentle shadows across Aki’s face, and Evan couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled.

  “So,” she said, after a few bites, “what brings you to Tokyo? Besides destroying innocent people’s dinners.”

  He chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’m a travel writer. Well — kind of. I freelance. Mostly stories about places, people, food. I take photos too. I’ve always wanted to explore Tokyo beyond the usual tourist spots.”

  Aki nodded. “That sounds… romantic, in a way. Going wherever you want. Following curiosity.”

  “It’s chaotic, but I love it. No two days are the same,” he said. Then, tilting his head curiously, he added, “What about you? Are you from here?”

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  “Born and raised,” she said. “I live in Meguro, not too far from here. I work part-time at a little bookstore near Daikanyama…”

  Evan’s chopsticks froze in midair.

  “The one with the old wooden sign? With all the secondhand novels in the window?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You’ve been there?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Yesterday. I was the guy awkwardly staring at you from behind a shelf before running away without buying anything.”

  Aki blinked, then burst into laughter. “That was you?”

  “Guilty.”

  “You looked like you were trying to decide whether to say something or disappear into the floor.”

  “Both, actually.” He leaned forward. “You looked like you were lost in another world. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “I noticed you, too.”

  The air between them shifted. Slower. Closer.

  Evan looked down, suddenly bashful. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Tokyo’s big, and I’m only here for a couple of weeks.”

  Aki’s expression flickered, just briefly, before she nodded. “Sometimes… people cross paths when they’re supposed to. Even just for a little while.”

  They fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The kind of silence where two people are building something fragile between them — unsure what it is yet, but not wanting to rush it.

  After dinner, they walked down a narrow laneway lined with ivy-covered walls and tiny shops closed for the night.

  Evan asked her about her favorite authors. She lit up, talking about Banana Yoshimoto, Haruki Murakami, and Virginia Woolf. Evan countered with Kazuo Ishiguro, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and his guilty pleasure: Neil Gaiman.

  “You read The Ocean at the End of the Lane?” Aki asked, surprised.

  “Three times,” Evan said. “That book ruins me in the best way.”

  They paused on a bridge overlooking the Meguro River, where streetlights reflected in long golden lines across the dark water.

  “I should go,” Aki said, glancing at her phone. “My sister will worry.”

  “Of course,” Evan said quickly. “Thank you — for tonight. For not yelling at me.”

  She smiled and stepped away, then hesitated.

  “Do you… maybe want to meet again? While you’re still in Tokyo?” she asked, almost shyly.

  Evan felt something bloom in his chest.

  “I’d like that. A lot.”

  She pulled a pen from her bag, grabbed a receipt from his pocket notebook, and scribbled something on the back.

  “My number,” she said. “Text me.”

  He watched as she disappeared around the corner, then looked down at the paper in his hand. Her name and number were written in neat, careful English.

  Aki.

  Even her handwriting was beautiful.

  He stood there for a long while, the city buzzing around him, his heart quiet and full.

  And for the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about where he’d travel next.

  He was thinking about who he wanted to see tomorrow.