*January 15th - One week into spring semester*
The morning of the undergraduate research symposium arrived gray and cold, with the kind of January wind that made even the short walk across campus feel like an endurance test. Haruki stood in front of his dorm room mirror, adjusting his tie for the third time and trying to calm the nervous energy that had been building for days.
His phone buzzed with messages of support: one from his parents (*We're so proud of you, sweetheart. You're going to be wonderful*), one from Noa (*You've got this. Your research is brilliant and you know it better than anyone*), and one from Professor Akizuki (*Remember—you're not just presenting data. You're telling a story about how people learn to love better*).
He pocketed his phone, gathered his presentation materials, and headed out into the cold morning, feeling like he was walking toward something that would change everything.
---
The humanities building was buzzing with activity when he arrived. Graduate students and faculty members moved through the hallways with poster boards and laptops, while undergraduate presenters clustered in nervous groups, rehearsing their talks and checking their notes one final time.
"Haruki!" Noa appeared at his elbow, looking professional in a dark blazer and carrying a travel mug of coffee. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrified and excited in equal measure."
"Good. That means you care about this."
"Did you get your thesis chapter finished last night?"
"Barely. Dr. Yamamoto wants to see the next draft by Friday, but I wanted to be here for your presentation."
"You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did. This is important, and I want to support you."
Professor Akizuki approached them, looking pleased and slightly nervous herself. "Ready for this, Haruki?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"Your presentation is in Conference Room B at ten-thirty. That gives us an hour to set up and do a final run-through if you'd like."
"That would be helpful."
"Noa, will you be joining us?"
"If that's okay. I promise not to be distracting."
"You're never distracting," Haruki said automatically, then caught Professor Akizuki's amused expression. "I mean, your presence is supportive, not distracting."
"Smooth recovery," Noa said, grinning.
---
Conference Room B was smaller than Haruki had expected, with seating for about thirty people and a podium at the front that looked simultaneously welcoming and intimidating. Professor Akizuki helped him set up his laptop and test the projector while Noa arranged chairs and tried to make the space feel less formal.
"Let's do a quick run-through," Professor Akizuki suggested. "Just the introduction and conclusion—I want to make sure you're comfortable with your opening and closing."
Haruki moved to the podium, looking out at an audience of two people who believed in his work, and began.
"Good morning. My name is Haruki Sakamoto, and I'm here to present research on attachment pattern development in college students, conducted under the supervision of Professor Akizuki."
His voice was steadier than he'd expected, and as he moved through his introduction—explaining the research questions, methodology, and significance of the findings—he felt his confidence building.
"The central discovery of this research is that attachment patterns formed in childhood are not fixed. College students can develop more secure relationship behaviors through conscious effort, therapy, and exposure to healthy relationship models."
"Excellent," Professor Akizuki said when he finished. "You sound confident and knowledgeable. Remember to make eye contact with your audience and speak slowly enough that people can follow your reasoning."
"What if someone asks a question I can't answer?"
"Then you say 'That's an excellent question that deserves more research' and move on. You're not expected to know everything—you're expected to know your own work thoroughly."
"Which you do," Noa added. "You could probably give this presentation in your sleep."
---
By ten-fifteen, the room was filling with people—graduate students, faculty members, and a few other undergraduates who were presenting later in the day. Haruki recognized some faces from Professor Akizuki's class, but most of the audience consisted of strangers who were here because they were genuinely interested in relationship psychology research.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Professor Akizuki said from the podium, "please welcome Haruki Sakamoto, who will be presenting his research on attachment pattern development in college students."
Haruki approached the podium feeling like he was stepping into a different version of himself—not just a student, but a researcher with something meaningful to contribute to academic conversation.
"Good morning," he began, looking out at the attentive faces. "Six months ago, I transferred to this university convinced that I was fundamentally bad at relationships. Today, I'm here to present research suggesting that none of us are fundamentally bad at relationships—we just haven't learned healthy relationship patterns yet."
A few people smiled at this opening, and Haruki felt his nerves settle into focused energy.
"This research examines whether college students can develop more secure attachment patterns regardless of their childhood experiences. What we discovered is that attachment styles are learned behaviors that can be unlearned and replaced with healthier patterns."
He moved through his presentation methodically, explaining the interview process, the data analysis, and the patterns that had emerged. The audience listened with engaged attention, taking notes and nodding at key points.
"The most significant finding is that students who engage in conscious relationship work—whether through therapy, academic study, or intentional practice—show measurable improvement in communication patterns, conflict resolution skills, and emotional regulation within romantic relationships."
A hand went up in the audience. "How do you define 'conscious relationship work'?"
"Excellent question. We defined it as any deliberate effort to understand and improve relationship patterns. This included individual therapy, couples counseling, academic coursework in psychology or communication, and what participants described as 'intentional practice' of healthier behaviors."
"Can you give an example of intentional practice?"
Haruki felt a moment of vulnerability, knowing he was about to share something personal with a room full of strangers.
"One participant described learning to communicate needs directly instead of hoping their partner would guess what they wanted. Another talked about practicing conflict resolution skills—focusing on solving problems rather than winning arguments. These weren't dramatic interventions, just conscious choices to behave differently in relationships."
More hands went up, and Haruki found himself genuinely enjoying the discussion. These weren't hostile questions designed to trip him up—they were curious inquiries from people who found his research genuinely interesting.
"What are the implications for therapy and counseling?" asked a graduate student.
"This research suggests that attachment-based therapy could be highly effective for young adults who are struggling with relationship patterns. Rather than assuming people are stuck with childhood attachment styles, therapists could focus on teaching specific skills for developing secure attachment behaviors."
"Have you considered longitudinal follow-up studies?"
"That's exactly what Professor Akizuki and I hope to pursue in graduate school. We'd love to track participants over several years to see whether these improvements in attachment patterns persist and continue to develop."
The questions continued for another ten minutes, and when Professor Akizuki finally called time, Haruki felt like he could have continued the conversation for hours.
"Thank you, Haruki," she said as the audience applauded. "That was an excellent presentation of important research."
---
As people filed out of the room, several audience members approached Haruki with follow-up questions and comments. A graduate student from the psychology department wanted to know about his methodology; a faculty member from the education school was interested in applications for college counseling programs; another undergraduate asked about opportunities to get involved in similar research.
"You did beautifully," Noa said when the room had finally cleared. "You sounded like a real researcher, not just a student presenting a class project."
"That's because it is real research," Professor Akizuki said proudly. "Haruki, I've had three people ask me about our plans for publication. There's genuine interest in this work."
"Really?"
"Really. You should be very proud of what you've accomplished."
Haruki felt something settle in his chest—not just relief that the presentation was over, but genuine satisfaction with work that mattered. This wasn't just an academic exercise; it was research that could actually help people develop healthier relationships.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"Now we write up the full paper for journal submission. And you start thinking about graduate programs where you can continue this kind of work."
"And now," Noa added, "we celebrate. You just gave your first academic presentation, and it was brilliant."
---
They celebrated with lunch at the small café near campus, joined by Professor Akizuki and two graduate students who'd been in the audience. The conversation ranged from research methodology to graduate school applications to the broader implications of attachment theory for education and therapy.
"You know," one of the graduate students said to Haruki, "you should consider applying to our program. Dr. Chen is doing fascinating work on relationship interventions for young adults."
"I'm definitely interested. Professor Akizuki and I have been discussing programs that would let me continue this research."
"The application deadline isn't until March. You still have time."
After lunch, Professor Akizuki excused herself to attend other presentations, leaving Haruki and Noa alone to process the morning.
"How does it feel?" Noa asked as they walked slowly back toward campus. "Having presented your first real research?"
"Like I found something I want to do with my life. Not just study literature or analyze other people's ideas, but actually contribute new knowledge about how people can love each other better."
"That's a beautiful way to describe it."
"What about you? How did it feel to watch me present research that's partly about us?"
"Proud. And a little amazed that we've become the kind of people who can be case studies for healthy relationship development."
"We have, haven't we? Become those people."
"We have. Six months ago, neither of us knew how to do relationships well. Now we're examples of conscious relationship work."
They walked in comfortable silence, both processing the significance of the morning and what it meant for their individual futures and shared goals.
"Haruki," Noa said as they reached the quad.
"Yeah?"
"I love watching you do work that matters to you. You light up when you talk about this research in a way that's completely different from how you talk about your literature classes."
"Is that a problem? That I'm more excited about psychology research than my actual major?"
"It's not a problem. It's information. Important information about what kind of life you want to build."
"What kind of life do I want to build?"
"One where you get to study how people learn to love each other better. One where your work contributes to helping people develop healthier relationships."
"That does sound like the kind of life I want."
"Then that's the kind of life we'll figure out how to create."
"We?"
"We. Your goals are my goals now, remember? That's what partnership means."
Haruki stopped walking and turned to face her fully. "I love you."
"I love you too. And I'm proud of you. And I can't wait to see what you discover next."
Standing in the middle of campus on a cold January afternoon, surrounded by the academic life they'd both chosen, Haruki felt like he was exactly where he belonged—not just geographically, but in terms of the work he was doing, the person he was becoming, and the relationship he was building.
It was everything he'd been hoping to find when he transferred schools, and more than he'd dared to expect.
---
*End of Chapter 29*