*April 20th - Six weeks before graduation*
The campus had transformed with spring's arrival, cherry blossoms lining the walkways and students emerging from winter hibernation to study on the quad. Haruki sat under his favorite tree with a stack of final papers to grade for Professor Akizuki's class, watching other students enjoy the warm afternoon while he worked through the familiar rhythm of academic evaluation.
His phone buzzed with a text from Noa: *Finished my last undergraduate class ever. Meet me at our spot in the library?*
He gathered his papers and headed inside, finding her at their usual table surrounded by the organized chaos of someone cleaning out a semester's worth of research materials.
"How does it feel?" he asked, settling into the chair beside her. "Being officially done with undergraduate coursework?"
"Surreal. Four years of classes, and suddenly I'm just... finished." She gestured to the pile of notebooks and printed articles she was sorting. "I keep thinking I'm forgetting something important."
"Like what?"
"Like there should be more ceremony to ending this phase of life. More acknowledgment that everything's about to change completely."
Haruki looked around the library that had become their second home, noting how different it felt now that they were both transitioning out of undergraduate life.
"What's the strangest part about being done?"
"Realizing how much I've changed since freshman year. Not just academically, but as a person." Noa held up a notebook from her first psychology class. "Look at these notes—I was so focused on memorizing facts instead of understanding concepts."
"When did that change?"
"Gradually, I think. But this year especially. Working on my thesis, taking Professor Akizuki's class, learning how to think about relationships analytically—it all shifted how I approach learning."
"You mean you started thinking like a researcher instead of just a student."
"Exactly. And now I can't imagine going back to passive learning. Graduate school is going to be so different."
They worked side by side for the next hour, Haruki grading papers while Noa organized her academic materials into "keep," "donate," and "recycle" piles. The comfortable parallel work felt significant—one of their last afternoons as undergraduate students sharing study space.
"Can I read you something?" Haruki asked, looking up from a particularly thoughtful final paper.
"Of course."
"This student wrote about applying attachment theory to her relationship with her parents: 'Understanding my anxious attachment patterns helped me recognize that my need for constant reassurance wasn't about my parents' love for me—it was about my own fear of abandonment. Now I can ask for support when I need it instead of creating drama to test whether they'll stay.'"
"That's beautiful. She really understood the material."
"She understood it because of how you presented attachment theory in your guest lecture. You made it accessible and personally relevant."
"I just shared what I'd learned from my own research."
"You did more than that. You helped students see how academic concepts could improve their actual lives."
Noa smiled, looking pleased but slightly embarrassed by the praise. "Teaching is harder than I expected. But also more rewarding."
"Are you thinking about incorporating teaching into your graduate school plans?"
"Maybe. Dr. Patel mentioned that Chicago's program includes teaching opportunities for advanced students."
"That would be perfect for you. You're a natural at making complex ideas understandable."
---
That evening, they attended the undergraduate research symposium reception, where students and faculty gathered to celebrate the year's academic achievements. Haruki found himself in conversations with professors from multiple departments, discussing his research and graduate school plans with the confidence that came from having successfully presented his work.
"Haruki," Dr. Chen approached him with a wine glass and a pleased expression. "I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to Northwestern. Dr. Martinez is lucky to have you."
"Thank you. I'm excited about the opportunity to continue the attachment research."
"And I understand you and Noa will be co-authoring a paper with Professor Akizuki?"
"We're working on integrating our findings into a comprehensive study of attachment pattern development and intervention."
"That's impressive work for undergraduates. You should be proud of what you've accomplished."
Across the room, Haruki could see Noa in animated conversation with several graduate students, discussing her thesis research and plans for Chicago. She looked confident and engaged, clearly comfortable in academic settings in a way that hadn't been true when they'd first met.
"She's remarkable," Dr. Chen said, following his gaze. "Her thesis defense was one of the strongest I've seen from an undergraduate."
"She is remarkable. I'm lucky to have found someone who shares my passion for this kind of work."
"And you're both brave enough to pursue the programs that are best for your individual goals, even though it means distance."
"We're trying to trust that supporting each other's academic growth will strengthen our relationship rather than threaten it."
"That's a mature perspective. Many couples your age prioritize proximity over professional development."
"We've learned that love means encouraging each other to become the people we're meant to be, even when it's inconvenient."
Dr. Chen smiled. "That's exactly the kind of thinking that will serve you well in graduate school and beyond."
---
Later that evening, they walked across campus together, processing the reception and their conversations with faculty members who were beginning to treat them as emerging colleagues rather than just students.
"Dr. Martinez pulled me aside," Haruki said as they reached the quad. "He wants to start planning our research collaboration for next year."
"What kind of collaboration?"
"Expanding the attachment study to include longitudinal data. Following participants over multiple years to track how attachment patterns change with different interventions."
"That sounds like exactly the kind of work you want to do."
"It is. And Dr. Patel mentioned similar opportunities at Chicago—long-term studies of therapeutic outcomes based on attachment-informed interventions."
"So we'll both be doing related research, just at different institutions."
"Which means we'll have even more to talk about when we see each other. Professional collaboration across distance."
They settled on their favorite bench overlooking the campus, both processing the reality that their time as undergraduates was rapidly coming to an end.
"Can I tell you something?" Noa said, leaning against his shoulder.
"Always."
"I'm going to miss this. Not just being students, but being students together. Sharing classes, studying in the same library, having the same academic schedule."
"I'm going to miss it too. But I'm also excited about what comes next."
"Even though it means being apart?"
"Even though it means being apart. Because what comes next is both of us doing work we're passionate about, becoming the researchers and thinkers we want to be."
"And figuring out how to love each other well across distance and time zones and graduate school stress."
"That too. Though I think we've gotten pretty good at loving each other well under pressure."
"We have, haven't we? Remember finals week first semester, when we were both overwhelmed and barely had time for real conversations?"
"And we figured out how to stay connected even when we were busy. We'll figure out the distance thing too."
"You sound very confident about that."
"I am confident about us. Not because it will be easy, but because we've proven we can work through challenges without losing what matters."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching other students move across campus in the warm spring evening. Some were clearly couples, walking hand in hand and absorbed in each other's company. Others were groups of friends, laughing and planning weekend activities. All of them looked young and hopeful in the way that college students did when the weather was nice and finals were still weeks away.
"Do you think we look different to other people now?" Noa asked. "More serious, maybe? Like people who've figured something out?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, we're making decisions about graduate school and long-distance relationships and academic careers. We're not just dating—we're building something intentional together."
"I think we probably do look different. More purposeful, maybe."
"Is that good or bad?"
"I think it's good. I like that we've moved beyond just enjoying each other's company to actively supporting each other's growth."
"Me too. Though I also like that we still enjoy each other's company."
"Especially that."
---
As they walked back to the dorm, they passed the humanities building where they'd first met in Professor Akizuki's classroom. The windows were dark now, but Haruki could picture the room where they'd spent so many hours discussing attachment theory and relationship patterns, learning the vocabulary that had helped them understand their own connection.
"Should we stop by Professor Akizuki's office tomorrow?" Noa suggested. "Thank her for everything she's taught us?"
"That's a good idea. Though I think we should also tell her about our graduate school decisions and how we're planning to handle the distance."
"Why?"
"Because she's been our mentor through this whole process. She deserves to know how we're applying what we've learned."
"And because she'll probably have good advice about maintaining relationships during graduate school."
"That too."
They reached their floor and stood in the hallway between their rooms—the same space where their relationship had begun with borrowed books and tentative conversations about philosophy and human connection.
"Six weeks until graduation," Noa said.
"Six weeks until everything changes."
"Are you ready for everything to change?"
"I'm ready for us to change together, even if we're doing it from different cities."
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
"It's also the truest thing I've ever said to you."
They kissed goodnight in the familiar hallway, both aware that they were counting down their last weeks as undergraduate students, their last weeks living down the hall from each other, their last weeks before the real test of their relationship began.
But instead of feeling sad about endings, they felt excited about beginnings—the research they'd conduct, the people they'd become, the love they'd continue building across whatever distance and challenges lay ahead.
It was exactly the kind of love worth fighting for.
---
*End of Chapter 33*