Saturday arrived with a kind of aching sweetness.

  Evan spent the morning wandering through the side streets of Ginza, restless and half-distracted.

  Every colorful storefront, every unfamiliar scent in the air, every laughing couple passing by — everything reminded him that his time was slipping away.

  Tomorrow, he would be on a plane.

  Tomorrow, this — Aki — would be 6,000 miles away.

  He checked his watch.

  Three hours until the festival.

  And somehow, it felt like the most important three hours of his life.

  At six o’clock, Evan waited at their meeting spot by the Sumida River, his hands stuffed into his pockets to hide how badly they were shaking.

  The street was alive — food stalls stretching as far as he could see, the smell of grilled yakitori and buttery sweet corn thick in the air.

  Children in colorful yukata darted between adults, laughing and clutching paper fans.

  Everyone was waiting for the fireworks to start.

  Everyone except Evan — he was waiting for her.

  And then, through the crowd, he saw her.

  Aki, in a soft blue yukata scattered with white camellia blossoms, her hair pinned loosely with a delicate silver comb.

  She looked like a dream — a dream Evan wasn’t ready to wake up from.

  For a moment, he couldn’t even move.

  He just stared, his heart hammering in his ears.

  Aki caught sight of him and smiled — that same shy, dazzling smile that had undone him from the very beginning.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She hurried over, the clumsy little sandals causing her to stumble slightly, and Evan instinctively reached out to steady her.

  Their hands found each other easily, naturally.

  “You look…” he began, but the words failed him.

  Aki blushed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “You too.”

  He wasn’t wearing anything fancy — just a crisp white shirt and jeans — but somehow, standing here with her under the setting sun, Evan felt like he belonged in this moment more than anywhere else he’d ever been.

  They wandered through the festival, hand in hand, trying every snack that caught their eye.

  Evan burned his tongue on takoyaki.

  Aki insisted on winning him a tiny stuffed cat from a goldfish-scooping booth (and cheated shamelessly to do it).

  They shared a towering kakigori, the syrup staining their lips red and blue.

  At one point, a fireworks vendor called out to them, waving bundles of sparklers.

  “Get some for later!” Aki said, her eyes lighting up. “We can make our own show after the big one.”

  Evan bought two packs, tucking them carefully into his bag, feeling a ridiculous amount of pride at the way Aki grinned up at him.

  They were weaving their own little world, one small happiness at a time.

  And Evan knew — he would carry this night with him for the rest of his life.

  As darkness fell, the riverbank filled with people.

  Evan and Aki found a spot on the grassy slope, close enough to see the barges floating out into the water, stacked with firework launchers.

  The sky turned indigo.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Then — with a single booming crack — the first firework exploded overhead, a blossom of gold and red against the night.

  A collective gasp rippled through the festival-goers.

  Aki leaned into Evan’s side without thinking, her shoulder pressing against his.

  He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

  Firework after firework lit up the sky — chrysanthemums of light in every color imaginable.

  Reflected in the river.

  Reflected in Aki’s eyes.

  They didn’t talk.

  There was nothing to say.

  The fireworks said it for them.

  The wonder.

  The heartbreak.

  The impossible beauty of something so fleeting it almost hurt to watch.

  When the last firework faded, the crowd began to disperse, but Evan and Aki stayed sitting there, reluctant to break the spell.

  The river glimmered with the ghost of light.

  The air smelled faintly of gunpowder and summer.

  Aki turned to him, her yukata slipping slightly from her shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Evan nodded, throat too tight for words.

  Aki looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her sleeve.

  “I’m glad I met you,” she said quietly.

  “Me too,” Evan said. His voice cracked on the last word.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out the sparklers.

  “Come on,” he said, forcing a smile. “One last adventure.”

  They lit the sparklers with a match, shielding the tiny flames from the breeze.

  Thin trails of light danced in the air as they waved them back and forth, drawing stars and hearts and silly shapes that disappeared as fast as they were made.

  Aki laughed, the sound soft and a little sad.

  When her sparkler fizzled out, she dropped it and stepped closer to him.

  “I don’t want this to be goodbye,” she whispered.

  Evan tossed his dying sparkler aside and cupped her face in his hands.

  “It’s not,” he said fiercely. “It’s just…until we meet again.”

  Tears glimmered in Aki’s eyes, but she smiled.

  “Until we meet again,” she echoed.

  And then he kissed her — a kiss filled with everything they couldn’t fit into words, with all the love and fear and hope tangled together.

  The sparklers burned out around them, one by one.

  But Evan held her tighter, memorizing the weight of her, the scent of her hair, the way her hands fisted in his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

  Neither did he.

  Not ever.