*March 10th - Three weeks after the defense*
The acceptance letters had been arriving steadily for two weeks, creating a pile of thick envelopes on Noa's desk that represented possibilities neither she nor Haruki had dared to hope for three months ago. Now they sat in her room on a gray March afternoon, surrounded by acceptance packets from universities across the country, trying to make decisions that would shape the next five years of their lives.
"Read me the funding package from Northwestern again," Noa said, cross-legged on her bed with a spreadsheet of program comparisons balanced on her laptop.
"Full tuition waiver, $28,000 annual stipend, guaranteed funding for five years, plus a $2,000 research allowance." Haruki looked up from the letter. "And Dr. Martinez specifically mentioned wanting to continue the attachment research we've been working on."
"That's a good offer."
"It's an excellent offer. What about your options?"
Noa shuffled through her own acceptance letters. "University of Chicago wants me for their clinical program—full funding, plus the opportunity to work with Dr. Patel on attachment-based therapy interventions."
"That would be perfect for your research interests."
"It would. But Chicago is eight hours from Northwestern."
They'd been having variations of this conversation for weeks, ever since the acceptances started arriving. Both had been admitted to several excellent programs, but the geographic logistics of maintaining their relationship while pursuing individual academic goals was proving more complicated than they'd anticipated.
"What about the programs where we'd be in the same city?" Haruki asked, though they'd already discussed this option extensively.
"University of Michigan accepted both of us, but their psychology program isn't as strong as Chicago's, and their literature program doesn't have anyone doing the kind of interdisciplinary work you want to pursue."
"And staying here?"
"Dr. Chen's offer is generous, and I'd get to continue working with Professor Akizuki on our joint research. But I'm worried about staying in the same place for graduate school. Maybe I need the challenge of a new environment."
Haruki set down the Northwestern letter and moved to sit beside her on the bed. "What if we approach this differently?"
"How?"
"What if we each choose the program that's best for our individual academic goals, and then figure out how to make the relationship work around those choices?"
"You mean prioritize academics over geography?"
"I mean trust that our relationship is strong enough to handle some distance if it means we're both in the best possible programs for our research."
Noa was quiet for a moment, considering this perspective. "That's either very mature or very risky."
"Maybe both. But think about it—we've spent the past year learning how to support each other's individual growth. This would be the ultimate test of whether we can maintain that support across distance."
"Eight hours is a lot of distance."
"It is. But it's not insurmountable. We could visit every few weeks, spend summers together, coordinate conference travel."
"You've really thought about this."
"I've thought about everything. Including the possibility that trying to stay geographically close might mean one of us compromises on the program that would be best for our career."
Noa leaned against his shoulder, both of them staring at the acceptance letters spread across her desk.
"What does your gut tell you about Northwestern?" she asked.
"That it's exactly what I've been hoping for. Dr. Martinez understands the interdisciplinary work I want to do, they have funding for the attachment research, and the literature program would let me continue studying narrative psychology."
"And Chicago feels right for me. Dr. Patel's work on attachment-based interventions is exactly what I want to focus on in graduate school."
"So we both know where we want to go."
"We do. The question is whether we're brave enough to choose our individual goals and trust our relationship to survive the logistics."
---
That evening, they called Professor Akizuki to discuss their decision-making process. She listened thoughtfully as they explained their dilemma, occasionally asking clarifying questions about program strengths and research opportunities.
"This is a significant decision," she said when they'd finished outlining their options. "Not just academically, but personally. How are you thinking about balancing individual goals with relationship considerations?"
"We're trying to figure out whether choosing the best academic programs is worth the risk to our relationship," Noa said.
"That's the wrong question," Professor Akizuki replied gently.
"What's the right question?" Haruki asked.
"The right question is: What kind of relationship do you want to build, and what kind of individual growth do you need to support that relationship long-term?"
"I don't understand the distinction."
"If you compromise your academic goals to stay geographically close, will you resent each other eventually? If you prioritize individual achievement over relationship logistics, will you grow apart?"
"Those are both real risks," Noa said.
"They are. But there's a third option you haven't considered."
"Which is?"
"That choosing the programs where you'll do your best work might actually strengthen your relationship. That supporting each other's academic excellence, even when it's inconvenient, might deepen your partnership rather than threaten it."
Haruki felt something click into place. "You're saying that loving each other well means encouraging each other to pursue the opportunities that will help us become the people we want to be."
"Exactly. The question isn't whether your relationship can survive distance. The question is whether your relationship can thrive when both partners are pursuing work that genuinely fulfills them."
"But what about the practical challenges?" Noa asked. "Maintaining intimacy across distance, coordinating schedules, dealing with the stress of graduate school while managing a long-distance relationship?"
"Those are real challenges that require conscious effort and clear communication. But they're not insurmountable if you're both committed to making it work."
"How can we be sure we're committed enough?"
"You can't be sure. That's what makes it a leap of faith rather than a calculated decision."
---
After they hung up with Professor Akizuki, they sat in Noa's room processing her advice and their own feelings about the decision they were facing.
"She's right, isn't she?" Noa said eventually. "About supporting each other's academic goals even when it's inconvenient."
"I think so. And honestly, the idea of you turning down Chicago because of our relationship makes me uncomfortable."
"Why?"
"Because Chicago is perfect for your research interests. If you chose a lesser program to stay close to me, I'd always wonder if I was holding you back from your potential."
"I feel the same way about Northwestern for you. Dr. Martinez's work is exactly what you want to do."
"So we're both leaning toward choosing the programs that are best for our individual goals?"
"I think we are. But I'm scared."
"Me too. But I'm more scared of building a relationship based on limiting each other's opportunities than I am of figuring out how to love each other across distance."
Noa was quiet for a long moment, staring at the acceptance letters that represented such different futures.
"If we do this—if we choose Chicago and Northwestern—we need to be very intentional about how we maintain our connection."
"What would that look like?"
"Regular visits, daily communication, being honest about how we're handling the distance instead of pretending it's not difficult."
"And supporting each other through the stress of graduate school even when we can't be physically present."
"Can we do that? Be each other's primary emotional support while living eight hours apart?"
"I think we can. We've gotten good at supporting each other through academic pressure. Distance just means we'll have to be more creative about how we do it."
"More intentional about making time for each other."
"More deliberate about staying connected to each other's daily lives."
"More committed to choosing our relationship every day instead of just assuming it will maintain itself."
They looked at each other across the pile of acceptance letters, both recognizing the magnitude of what they were considering.
"Are we really going to do this?" Noa asked quietly.
"Choose the programs that are best for our individual goals and trust our relationship to handle the distance?"
"Yes."
"I think we are."
"I'm terrified and excited in equal measure."
"Good terrified or bad terrified?"
"Good terrified. The kind that comes with choosing something meaningful instead of something safe."
---
The next morning, they drafted their acceptance emails together—Noa to the University of Chicago's clinical psychology program, Haruki to Northwestern's interdisciplinary literature and psychology program. Before sending them, they sat in the dining hall over breakfast, making final plans for how they'd handle the transition.
"When do programs start?" Haruki asked.
"Late August. So we have the summer to figure out logistics and spend time together before the distance begins."
"What about housing? Are you thinking about living alone or finding roommates?"
"Probably roommates initially, to save money and have social connections. What about you?"
"Same. Graduate school stipends don't leave much room for expensive housing."
"We should coordinate our schedules as much as possible. Plan visits, figure out when we can see each other."
"And we should talk about expectations. How often we'll visit, how we'll handle holidays, what we'll do if one of us gets overwhelmed by the distance."
"Those are good conversations to have before we're actually dealing with the stress."
They finished breakfast and walked across campus together, both carrying their laptops with the acceptance emails ready to send. At the student center, they found a quiet corner with reliable wifi and looked at each other one final time.
"Ready?" Noa asked, her finger hovering over the send button.
"Ready. On three?"
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
They clicked send simultaneously, officially committing to graduate programs eight hours apart and the challenge of maintaining their relationship across distance and academic pressure.
"We did it," Noa said, looking slightly stunned.
"We did it. We chose our individual goals and trusted our relationship to handle the consequences."
"I'm proud of us for being brave enough to do that."
"Me too. And I'm excited to see what we discover about ourselves and each other over the next few years."
"Even if it's difficult?"
"Especially if it's difficult. The best things usually are."
Outside the student center windows, March snow was beginning to melt, revealing the first hints of spring underneath. Inside, two people who'd learned to love each other well sat planning how to maintain that love across distance and time and whatever challenges graduate school might bring.
It felt like the beginning of everything.
---
*End of Chapter 32*