*May 5th - Three weeks before graduation*
The end of the semester brought the familiar intensity of final projects, comprehensive exams, and the particular urgency that came with knowing everything was about to change. Haruki sat in the campus coffee shop at seven in the morning, surrounded by other students who looked like they'd been awake all night, working on his final paper for Advanced Literary Theory while waiting for Noa to finish her last undergraduate psychology exam.
His phone buzzed with a text: *Finished! Meet me at the library in 20 minutes? I have news.*
He packed up his materials and headed across campus, finding Noa at their usual table with an expression that suggested something significant had happened.
"How did the exam go?" he asked, settling into the chair beside her.
"Better than expected. But that's not the news." She pulled out her phone and showed him an email. "Dr. Patel wants to offer me a research assistantship starting this summer."
"Noa, that's incredible. What kind of research?"
"A longitudinal study of attachment-based therapy interventions—exactly the work I want to be doing. It would mean moving to Chicago in June instead of August, but the funding is substantial and the research experience would be invaluable."
Haruki felt a complex mix of emotions—excitement for her opportunity, pride in her achievement, and a sharp awareness that their timeline for being together was suddenly much shorter.
"This is perfect for your career goals," he said, and meant it despite the personal implications.
"It is. But it means we'd only have one month together after graduation instead of the whole summer."
"When do you need to give Dr. Patel an answer?"
"By Friday. She needs to know so they can arrange housing and get me set up with the research team."
"What are you thinking?"
Noa was quiet for a moment, clearly processing the decision and its implications for both her individual goals and their relationship.
"I think I have to take it," she said finally. "This kind of opportunity doesn't come along often, and it's exactly the research experience I need for my graduate work."
"Then you should take it."
"You sound very sure about that."
"I am sure. This is what we talked about when we decided on graduate programs—supporting each other's academic goals even when it's inconvenient for us personally."
"But it means less time together this summer."
"It means less time together, but it also means you'll start your graduate program with significant research experience and established relationships with faculty. That's more important than extra time to hang out."
Noa looked at him with something like wonder. "How are you always so supportive of my career decisions?"
"Because your success makes me happy. And because I know that you being fulfilled in your work makes our relationship stronger, not weaker."
"That's a very mature perspective."
"I learned it from you. You've been supporting my academic goals all year, even when it meant I was stressed about research presentations or spending long hours working with Professor Akizuki."
"So we're really going to do this? You'll finish your semester here, I'll move to Chicago in June, and we'll start the long-distance thing earlier than planned?"
"We're really going to do this. And I'm proud of you for getting this opportunity."
---
That afternoon, Haruki had his final meeting with Professor Akizuki to discuss his comprehensive project—a paper integrating literature analysis with psychology research to examine how narrative patterns in contemporary fiction reflect changing attachment styles in society.
"This is sophisticated work, Haruki," Professor Akizuki said, looking through the draft he'd submitted. "You're making connections between literary analysis and psychological research that could genuinely contribute to both fields."
"It feels like the kind of interdisciplinary work I want to continue in graduate school."
"Dr. Martinez will be very pleased with your preparation. This paper demonstrates exactly the kind of thinking their program is designed to foster."
"Professor Akizuki, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Noa just got offered a summer research assistantship at Chicago, which means she'll be leaving in June instead of August. I'm happy for her, but I'm also worried about starting the long-distance aspect of our relationship earlier than planned."
"What specifically worries you?"
"That we haven't had enough time to prepare for the separation. That jumping into distance before we've really processed the transition might make it harder."
Professor Akizuki considered his concern carefully. "What would adequate preparation look like to you?"
"I don't know. More conversations about expectations, maybe? More time to practice the communication strategies from that book you gave us?"
"Those are reasonable concerns. But consider this—you've been preparing for long-distance relationship challenges all year, every time you supported each other through academic stress, every time you chose to communicate directly instead of avoiding difficult conversations."
"You think we're more ready than I realize?"
"I think you have stronger relationship foundation than most couples twice your age. The specific logistics of maintaining that foundation across distance are just details you'll figure out as you go."
"But what if we don't figure them out? What if the distance is harder than we expect?"
"Then you'll adapt. That's what people who love each other well do—they adjust their strategies when circumstances change."
Professor Akizuki pulled out her notebook and showed him a page of observations she'd been keeping.
"Look at this list of challenges you've both navigated successfully this year: Haruki's research presentation anxiety, Noa's thesis defense pressure, coordinating graduate school applications, managing different family expectations, balancing individual goals with relationship considerations."
"We have handled a lot."
"You've handled everything by communicating honestly, supporting each other's growth, and making conscious choices about how you want to love each other. Distance is just another variable in that equation."
---
That evening, Haruki found Noa in her room, drafting her acceptance email for the summer research position. She looked excited but slightly overwhelmed by the implications of her decision.
"How are you feeling about Chicago?" he asked, settling beside her on the bed.
"Excited and terrified. This research opportunity is exactly what I hoped for, but leaving in June means everything changes so quickly."
"What would help you feel more prepared?"
"Honestly? I want to make sure we have clear plans for staying connected. Specific strategies, not just good intentions."
"What kind of strategies?"
Noa pulled out the book Professor Akizuki had given them, now filled with bookmarks and notes in the margins.
"Daily check-ins, even if they're just texts about how our days went. Weekly longer conversations where we really talk about what we're learning and experiencing. Monthly visits if we can manage the travel and expense."
"Those all sound achievable."
"And I want us to share our academic work with each other. Not just the results, but the process. I want to feel connected to your research, and I want you to understand what I'm discovering."
"I'd love that. Your research has always been interesting to me."
"There's something else." Noa set down the book and turned to face him fully. "I want us to be honest about when the distance is hard instead of pretending it's easy."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean acknowledging when we miss each other, when we're feeling disconnected, when the logistics are stressful. Not just pushing through difficult feelings, but actually talking about them."
"That makes sense. Emotional honesty has been one of our relationship strengths."
"And I want us to celebrate each other's successes, even from a distance. When you have good meetings with Dr. Martinez, when I make progress on research projects—I want us to share that excitement with each other."
"Of course. Your achievements are important to me whether I'm physically present or not."
They spent the next hour creating what Noa called their "long-distance relationship plan"—specific strategies for communication, expectations for visits, ways to stay involved in each other's daily lives despite geographic separation.
"This is either very romantic or completely neurotic," Haruki said, looking at their detailed notes.
"Both. But it's us being intentional about maintaining our connection instead of just hoping it works out."
"I love that we approach our relationship like a collaborative project."
"I love that we're both committed to making it work, even when the logistics are complicated."
---
Two days later, Noa sent her acceptance email to Dr. Patel, officially committing to moving to Chicago in early June. They celebrated with dinner at their favorite restaurant, both processing the reality that their undergraduate relationship was transitioning into something much more complex and challenging.
"One month," Noa said over dessert. "One month of being in the same place, and then we start figuring out how to love each other from eight hours away."
"Are you nervous?"
"Yes. But also confident that we can do this."
"What makes you confident?"
"The fact that we've spent this entire year learning how to support each other's individual growth. Long-distance is just another way to practice those skills."
"Plus, we'll both be doing work we're passionate about. That should make the separation easier to handle."
"And we have mentors who believe in our ability to maintain our relationship while pursuing our goals."
"Plus all the communication strategies we've learned this year."
"Plus the fact that we genuinely like each other, not just love each other."
Haruki reached across the table for her hand. "I'm going to miss you."
"I'm going to miss you too. But I'm also excited about what we're both going to discover and accomplish."
"And I'm excited about staying connected to your discoveries and accomplishments, even from a distance."
"Me too."
Outside the restaurant window, the campus looked peaceful in the warm May evening, with students walking hand in hand and groups of friends enjoying what might be their last weeks together. But inside, two people who'd learned to love each other intentionally sat planning how to maintain that love across distance and time and whatever challenges graduate school might bring.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and also like the bravest thing they'd ever attempted.
---
*End of Chapter 35*