They started with ramen.

  It was a Wednesday — grey, drizzly, the kind of day that clung to your clothes and made the city feel smaller than usual. Aki stood in Evan’s kitchen, hair tied up with a pencil, sleeves rolled, a mess of ingredients spread across the counter.

  Evan leaned against the doorway, amused. “So we’re really doing this.”

  Aki didn’t look up. “You said you wanted a taste of Tokyo at home. I’m making it happen.”

  “You realize I could’ve just ordered delivery.”

  She waved a ladle at him like a weapon. “And deny you the joy of authentic ramen made with love and chaos?”

  Evan chuckled, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ll take all three.”

  An hour later, the kitchen looked like a war zone.

  Soy sauce splatters on the wall. A pot of broth bubbling dramatically. Noodles sticking to a colander like they were staging a protest.

  They sat down at the table with steaming bowls and mismatched chopsticks.

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  Aki blew on a mouthful, watching Evan cautiously slurp his.

  “Well?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

  He swallowed, dramatic. “It’s like… being punched in the soul by nostalgia. I love it.”

  She laughed. “That’s either the most romantic or the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

  He reached across the table and linked their pinkies together.

  “Practice run,” he said. “For our future ramen nights. Wherever we are.”

  She tightened her finger around his. “Deal.”

  Later, they sprawled on the couch, full and warm and wrapped in a shared blanket. Aki had her sketchbook open on her lap, drawing a little doodle of the night: Evan in an apron, flames in the background, a noodle stuck to his forehead.

  Evan watched her draw, chin propped on his hand. “Do you ever imagine what it’ll be like… five years from now?”

  She kept sketching. “Sometimes. Depends what version of me I’m imagining.”

  He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I think we all carry different versions of ourselves. The one who stays. The one who leaves. The one who compromises. The one who dreams.”

  Evan was quiet for a moment. “And which one are you today?”

  Aki stopped drawing and looked at him.

  “The one who wants to find a way to make this last,” she said simply.

  His throat tightened. He reached over and gently closed her sketchbook.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  They walked through the quiet London streets, arm in arm, until they reached a small footbridge overlooking the river. The water reflected the city’s lights — gold and blue, blurred and beautiful.

  “This is where I used to come when I needed to think,” Evan said, leaning over the railing. “Before I met you. Before anything felt clear.”

  “And now?”

  He turned to her, his eyes soft. “Now I just want to think with someone.”

  Aki looked at him, wind catching the loose strands of her hair, heart open.

  “I used to think building a life meant having everything figured out,” she said. “Now I think it just means showing up. Choosing each other. Every day.”

  Evan took her hands in his, holding them like something sacred.

  “Then let’s keep choosing. One city at a time. One dish at a time. One practice run at forever.”

  She smiled, leaning her forehead to his.

  “Forever’s looking good so far.”