Evan had never been so restless in his life.

  He stood at Heathrow’s arrivals gate, shifting from foot to foot, eyes locked on the automatic doors like his entire existence depended on them sliding open.

  In a way, it did.

  Around him, families reunited with tearful hugs, couples kissed like no one was watching, business travelers wheeled sleek suitcases toward waiting cars.

  But Evan saw none of it.

  All he could see — all he could feel — was the thundering rhythm of his heart and the image of Aki stepping through those doors.

  Twelve hours.

  That’s how long she’d been in the air.

  Twelve hours since her last message:

  Aki: Taking off now. Next time I text, I’ll be in London… and in your arms.

  He glanced at his phone for the hundredth time, even though he knew she wouldn’t text until after customs.

  His reflection in the dark screen stared back at him — slightly disheveled hair from running a nervous hand through it too many times, eyes wide with anticipation.

  And then — the doors opened.

  At first, it was just a wave of passengers.

  A blur of strangers.

  Until he saw her.

  Aki.

  Tiny compared to the crowd, her suitcase trailing behind her, hair a little messy from the flight, wearing the same scarf he had mailed her weeks ago.

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  Their eyes met across the sea of people — and everything else disappeared.

  Evan didn’t think.

  Didn’t hesitate.

  He pushed through the crowd, nearly dropping the ridiculous “Welcome to London” coffee he’d bought as a joke.

  Aki’s face lit up, her smile breaking into something so radiant it knocked the air out of his lungs.

  And then she was in his arms.

  They collided with a force that was half laughter, half tears — a tangle of limbs and racing hearts.

  Evan buried his face in her hair, breathing her in like he’d been holding his breath for months.

  “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

  “I’m here,” Aki replied, squeezing him tighter, as if afraid he might vanish if she let go.

  They stood like that for what felt like forever, oblivious to the people moving around them, some smiling knowingly at the scene, others too busy with their own reunions to notice.

  When they finally pulled back just enough to see each other’s faces, Evan cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears she didn’t even realize had fallen.

  “You’re real,” he said, half in disbelief.

  Aki laughed through a sniffle. “So are you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her — not rushed, not desperate, but slow and sure, like he was anchoring himself to the moment.

  When they parted, Aki rested her forehead against his, both of them grinning like fools.

  “I can’t believe I made it,” she whispered.

  “I never doubted you,” Evan teased, grabbing her suitcase handle with one hand and her hand with the other. “Come on. London’s waiting.”

  The taxi ride into the city felt like something out of a movie.

  Aki pressed her face to the window, wide-eyed at the rows of brick townhouses, red double-decker buses, and the grey sky that somehow suited the city perfectly.

  Evan watched her more than he watched the streets — the way her eyes darted from landmark to landmark, the quiet gasps whenever something surprised her.

  At one point, they passed the Thames, and Aki pointed excitedly at the London Eye in the distance.

  “I can’t believe I’m really here,” she said, shaking her head.

  Evan squeezed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

  “Believe it,” he said. “Because this week? It’s ours.”

  When they reached his flat — a cozy third-floor walk-up in a neighborhood full of ivy-covered walls and corner pubs — Aki wandered through the space, taking in every detail.

  Photos from Evan’s travels lined the shelves.

  Stacks of books threatened to topple off the coffee table.

  The scarf she had sent him was draped over a chair, like a piece of home transplanted here.

  “You weren’t kidding about the mess,” she teased, nudging a pile of papers aside to sit on the couch.

  Evan flopped down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

  “I clean up well under pressure,” he joked, kissing the top of her head.

  They sat there for a while, just soaking in the fact that they didn’t need a screen between them anymore.

  No lag.

  No time zones.

  Just warmth. Skin. Presence.

  Aki traced lazy circles on his chest, her head resting comfortably against him.

  “So…what’s first?” she asked. “Big Ben? The Tower? Tea with the Queen?”

  Evan laughed. “I thought we’d start with something better.”

  He reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a small paper bag.

  Inside was a single, slightly squished melonpan from a Japanese bakery he’d hunted down in London.

  Aki’s eyes widened, then filled with tears — the good kind.

  “You remembered,” she whispered, voice thick.

  “How could I forget?” he said, breaking the bread in half and handing her a piece. “It’s tradition.”

  They bit into it at the same time, grinning through mouthfuls of sweet, familiar flavor.

  And in that small London flat, with rain tapping gently at the windows and the city humming beyond, it felt like they had stitched two worlds together.

  For the first time in months, there was no distance.

  No waiting.

  Just them — exactly where they were meant to be.