The next morning, Aki sat by the window in Evan’s flat, her knees pulled to her chest and a steaming cup of tea resting beside her on the ledge.
Outside, London was waking up — shop shutters opening, a dog barking down the street, and the smell of rain still lingering in the air.
Inside, the flat was quiet, except for the faint clatter of Evan making breakfast in the kitchen.
But Aki’s mind was loud.
The application packet lay on the table.
Untouched. Unsent. Full of possibility.
She stared at it, heart tight with a thousand questions.
Later that day, while Evan was out picking up groceries, Aki called her sister.
The moment Mika’s face appeared on the screen, Aki’s breath caught.
“Hey,” Mika said gently, as if she already knew.
Aki smiled, sheepish. “You always know, don’t you?”
“You’re 9,000 kilometers away and still manage to wear your feelings on your sleeve.”
They both laughed, the warmth of home traveling through the signal.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Aki turned the camera toward the stack of visa forms.
“I’m thinking of staying,” she said quietly.
Mika nodded, not surprised.
“But?”
“But…” Aki looked out the window, her voice soft. “Tokyo still feels like home. The bookstore, the river path, Obaachan’s garden, the smell of konbini oden in the winter… And yet, when I’m with Evan — the world feels bigger. Like I’m allowed to dream more. Like I could be more.”
There was silence on the line.
Then Mika said, “You’ve always belonged to both worlds. Maybe this is just the first time you’re choosing for you, not for comfort or safety.”
Aki blinked back sudden tears.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
Mika smiled. “That means it matters.”
That evening, Evan came back with a brown paper bag filled with groceries and a small bouquet of wildflowers, slightly crooked but beautiful.
“For you,” he said, handing them to her without preamble.
Aki accepted them with a laugh.
“What’s the occasion?”
He leaned against the counter.
“I figured flowers help people make big decisions.”
She froze, the flowers pressed against her chest.
“You know?”
Evan shrugged. “I don’t need to. I can feel it. You’re wrestling with something. And I don’t want to pressure you.”
Aki looked down at the flowers.
“Even if I stayed, it wouldn’t be forever. It’s just three months. It’s not… everything.”
Evan stepped closer, his voice steady but soft.
“I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking for more time. With you. To figure out what forever could look like.”
Aki looked up, her eyes searching his.
“Even if I miss Tokyo?”
“Then we visit. Or go back together someday. Or we make a life where both cities are a part of it,” he said, smiling. “I don’t want to take you away from anything. I just want to build something that includes you. And me. Side by side.”
She stepped into him then, burying her face against his chest, the flowers still clutched between them.
“You always say the right thing,” she mumbled.
He kissed the top of her head. “No, I just mean it.”
That night, they filled out the application together.
Evan triple-checked the address fields. Aki wrote her name in careful, looping English letters.
When it was done, she stared at the envelope for a long moment before sealing it.
And then — with a long, slow breath — she smiled.
“I’m doing it,” she said. “I’m staying. For now.”
Evan pulled her into his arms and lifted her off the ground, spinning her once before pressing his forehead to hers.
“I’m the luckiest man in London,” he whispered.
Aki laughed, breathless.
“Don’t forget Tokyo. You’re theirs too.”
Later, as they curled up on the couch, watching the rain return outside the window, Aki held the envelope in her hands — a promise of more mornings like this.
More stolen kisses before tea.
More walks through hidden alleyways.
More pages in their shared story.
She wasn’t giving up her home.
She was choosing to build another one.
One that began, not in Tokyo or London, but in the quiet, unwavering space between two people who simply wanted to be together.
