The first week apart was easier than Evan expected.

  Not because he missed Aki any less — in fact, he missed her so much it physically hurt — but because they were still floating on the high of promises and possibilities.

  They texted constantly.

  Photos, little jokes, snapshots of their days.

  Aki would send him pictures of Tokyo sunsets, the bookstore cat sleeping on a stack of novels, or her morning coffee with a perfectly swirled foam heart.

  Evan replied with blurry shots of London rain, double-decker buses, and the chaotic mess of his tiny flat that Aki teased him about endlessly.

  But it was the nights — or rather, the strange hours between time zones — where they truly found each other again.

  It was 2 a.m. in London when Evan’s phone lit up.

  Aki is calling…

  He didn’t hesitate. He answered before the second ring.

  Her face filled his screen — slightly pixelated, hair messy from what looked like a long day, but to Evan, she was perfect.

  “You should be sleeping,” Aki said, smiling softly.

  “So should you,” he countered, noting the fading evening light behind her.

  They talked about everything and nothing.

  How her day went.

  How his boss was already piling on deadlines.

  How they both missed ramen and melonpan — but mostly, they missed each other.

  “I keep reaching for my phone to text you,” Aki admitted, “even when I know you’re probably asleep.”

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  Evan chuckled. “I do the same. My body clock is ruined.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence, just watching each other through the glow of their screens.

  It wasn’t enough — it would never be enough — but it was something.

  A thread stretching across continents, holding them together.

  “Hey,” Evan said suddenly, his voice softer. “Look up.”

  Aki frowned, confused, but obeyed — glancing toward her window.

  “The moon,” he said. “It’s probably out there for you too.”

  Aki’s lips parted in realization.

  Thousands of miles apart, but under the same moon.

  She smiled — that quiet, knowing smile that made Evan’s heart clench every time.

  “I’m looking at it now,” she whispered.

  “So am I,” he replied.

  And for a moment, the distance didn’t seem so cruel.

  But as days turned into weeks, reality began to seep in around the edges of their fairytale.

  Schedules clashed.

  Messages went unanswered for hours.

  Calls were missed because of meetings or sheer exhaustion.

  One night, Aki stared at her phone, watching as Evan’s “typing…” bubble disappeared without a message sent.

  It was silly — she knew that.

  But still, a tiny knot formed in her stomach.

  When his text finally arrived an hour later — Sorry, got pulled into work. Miss you. — she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  She typed back: It’s okay. Miss you too.

  But the knot didn’t go away.

  Meanwhile, Evan sat at his desk in London, rubbing his temples and feeling like the worst boyfriend in the world.

  He wanted to be better — to be present, to make Aki feel like she was still his entire world even when buried under deadlines and jet lag.

  But some nights, he just passed out before he could hit send.

  It wasn’t that his feelings had changed — if anything, they’d only grown stronger.

  It was just…harder than either of them had expected.

  Then came the weekend — their first video call date properly planned.

  Evan had insisted:

  “No interruptions. Just us.”

  He set up his laptop on the small balcony of his flat, the London skyline a faint blur behind him.

  Aki appeared on screen, sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing one of his shirts she’d stolen before he left.

  “You look…” Evan began, then gave up trying to find the right word. “God, I miss you.”

  Aki’s eyes softened. “I miss you too.”

  They ate dinner together — well, Evan had breakfast while Aki munched on late-night snacks.

  They talked for hours, laughing like they were back in that tiny ramen shop, like nothing had changed.

  At one point, Aki held up her phone to show him the necklace — the little silver airplane resting against her collarbone.

  “I wear it every day,” she said.

  Evan reached instinctively for the book she’d given him, which sat permanently on his nightstand.

  “I keep this close too,” he said, flipping through the pages until he found the one she had marked with a tiny pressed flower.

  “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

  They both read the line aloud at the same time, then burst into laughter.

  It wasn’t perfect.

  It wasn’t easy.

  But in that moment, it felt like they could survive anything.

  As the call stretched into the early hours, Aki grew quiet, her eyelids heavy.

  “Stay with me?” she murmured sleepily.

  Evan smiled, adjusting his laptop so he could see her better.

  “Always.”

  Aki drifted off, the soft rise and fall of her breathing filling his headphones.

  Evan watched her for a long time, tracing the outlines of her face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory.

  The city around him was still and silent, but inside, he felt full — of love, of longing, of stubborn hope.

  He whispered, even though she couldn’t hear it:

  “I’ll see you soon, Aki. I promise.”

  And somewhere across the world, Aki dreamed of him — of lantern-lit streets, of fireworks reflected in the river, and of a boy who had promised her that some goodbyes weren’t really endings.

  Just pauses.

  Just the space between when we meet again.