Morning came too soon.
The hotel room was still dark when Evan woke up, the pale light of dawn leaking through the curtains.
For a few seconds, he forgot where he was — forgot what day it was — and then it hit him all at once like a punch to the chest.
His flight.
Today.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything they hadn’t said settle over him.
Outside, Tokyo was already stirring awake — the low hum of traffic, the distant rattle of a train.
Life moving forward.
Even without him.
He met Aki at the airport.
Neither of them had wanted a long, heavy goodbye in front of her apartment.
Somehow, this felt easier. Cleaner.
Evan found her sitting near the departure gate, a small figure curled into the corner of a bench, her backpack hugged tightly to her chest.
When she saw him, she stood up quickly, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.
“You made it,” she said, her voice too bright.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Evan said, forcing a smile.
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, surrounded by the buzz of announcements, the rolling suitcases, the casual goodbyes of strangers who had no idea their whole world was cracking open.
“I got you something,” Aki said, breaking the silence.
She dug into her backpack and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package.
Evan took it, his fingers brushing hers.
Inside was a paperback novel — The Little Prince, in English and Japanese side by side.
He laughed softly, the sound catching in his throat.
“I thought,” Aki said, shyly, “we could read it together. From different sides of the world.”
Evan clutched the book against his chest, swallowing hard.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Then, fumbling through his own bag, he pulled out a small, clumsily wrapped box.
“For you.”
Aki opened it carefully — and gasped.
Inside was a delicate silver necklace, a tiny airplane charm dangling from the chain.
“So you always know,” Evan said, voice thick, “that no matter how far I go, I’m finding my way back to you.”
Aki blinked rapidly, trying to keep her tears at bay.
She reached up and fastened the necklace around her throat, her fingers trembling slightly.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ll never take it off.”
The final boarding call for Evan’s flight echoed through the terminal.
Passengers began to gather their bags, shuffling toward the gate.
The moment they had been pretending didn’t exist was here.
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Aki said, her lower lip quivering.
Evan stepped closer, cupping her face in both hands.
“Then don’t,” he said. “Just say ‘see you soon.’”
Tears spilled down her cheeks anyway.
Evan kissed them away, one by one, until she was laughing and crying at the same time.
“I’ll come visit,” Aki said fiercely. “As soon as I can.”
“I’ll come back,” Evan promised. “I don’t care if I have to swim here.”
They laughed through their tears, clinging to each other as if the force of their arms could hold back time itself.
Finally, finally, Evan pulled away, his heart breaking with every step.
He turned once at the gate.
Aki was standing there, small and stubborn and beautiful, waving both arms wildly like she could send her love flying after him.
He pressed his hand to his chest, right over the spot where it hurt the most, and smiled through the blur.
She smiled back, her hand resting over the tiny airplane at her throat.
See you soon, their smiles said.
And then Evan disappeared down the jetway.
As the plane lifted off, Tokyo shrinking away beneath him, Evan closed his eyes and clutched the book Aki had given him.
He wasn’t leaving everything behind.
He was carrying it with him.
Every laugh.
Every stolen glance.
Every firework.
Every promise whispered between heartbeats.
The space between them would stretch, yes.
It would ache.
But it wouldn’t break.
Because some things — the right things — find their way back.
Always.
