Three days into her London stay, Aki was starting to feel like a local.

  She had her own Oyster card now. She knew how to stand on the right side of the escalator in the Tube. She had even started craving a mid-afternoon tea break — something she used to roll her eyes at.

  But today felt different.

  Evan hadn’t told her where they were going.

  He just said, “It’s somewhere important. Somewhere I haven’t taken anyone in a long time.”

  The cab ride was quiet — not uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

  Evan held her hand the whole way, fingers tracing gentle circles across her skin.

  They drove out of the city center, into the kind of leafy, quiet neighborhood that felt pulled from another time. Rows of terraced houses, each with its own little patch of garden, some with bicycles propped against fences or flower boxes blooming on the windowsills.

  Finally, the cab pulled up in front of a small brick house with faded white trim and a bright blue front door.

  “This is it,” Evan said, stepping out and helping her with the door.

  Aki looked around, puzzled.

  “It’s… beautiful. But… what is it?”

  Evan gave her a nervous smile.

  “It’s where I grew up.”

  They sat on the front steps, sipping takeaway coffee from a nearby bakery.

  Evan stared at the house for a long moment, as if trying to decide where to begin.

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  “My dad still lives here,” he said. “He’s traveling this week — I told him I might stop by, but I didn’t tell him why.”

  Aki waited, quiet and patient.

  “When I was little, I used to think this door was magic,” Evan continued, tapping the faded blue paint. “I thought if I opened it the right way, I’d end up somewhere else. Somewhere that felt… more like me.”

  Aki tilted her head. “And did you?”

  He smiled, a little sad.

  “Not really. I didn’t fit in here. Not in school, not with the kids on the street. I was the ‘quiet half-Japanese boy with a camera and a book instead of a football.’”

  Aki reached for his hand and held it tightly.

  “I used to dream about Tokyo,” he admitted. “Even before I ever visited. I had this romantic idea in my head — that it was where all the pieces of me would finally make sense.”

  “And did it?” Aki asked, her voice soft.

  Evan looked at her then — really looked at her.

  “You were there. So yeah. It did.”

  He stood and pulled her gently to her feet.

  “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  They walked around the back of the house, where an old wooden swing still hung from a sturdy tree.

  Evan gestured for her to sit, then gave her a gentle push.

  Aki laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet garden.

  “I used to sit here when I couldn’t sleep,” he said, leaning against the tree trunk. “I’d look up at the stars and imagine a life somewhere else. Someone who would… get me.”

  He paused, watching her spin slowly, the hem of her coat lifting in the breeze.

  “I didn’t think she’d show up in a bookstore in Tokyo, reading quietly like the world didn’t need to hurry her.”

  Aki’s laughter faded into something tender.

  She dragged her feet to stop the swing and stood in front of him, close now, her fingers gently curling into his jacket.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever leave Tokyo,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d cross an ocean for anyone.”

  He rested his forehead against hers.

  “But here we are.”

  Later, they sat on a bench in the small park across the street, watching children chase each other through puddles.

  Aki leaned against his shoulder, and for the first time since arriving, the weight of the question she had been quietly carrying began to rise.

  “What happens after this?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  Evan didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

  He sighed, long and low.

  “I’ve been thinking about that too,” he said. “Every night since you booked your flight.”

  She looked up at him, heart thudding.

  “I don’t have the answers yet,” he admitted. “But I know this — I’m not done with you, Aki. Not even close.”

  She smiled faintly. “You make it sound like I’m a book you haven’t finished.”

  He chuckled. “You are. But you’re also the one I keep rereading.”

  Aki didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “My visa application packet,” she said. “For a short-term cultural exchange program. If I apply, I could stay in London for three more months. Help out at an art school, maybe… draw more. Maybe… stay closer to you.”

  Evan stared at her, speechless.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Aki said quickly, blushing. “I haven’t sent it yet. But I wanted to tell you that I’m… not afraid to try. If you want me here.”

  He took the paper from her gently, holding it like it was something sacred.

  “I do,” he said. “I really, really do.”

  They sat there until the light faded and the streetlamps flickered on, their hands clasped between them, the future still uncertain — but no longer out of reach.

  Because now they had something they didn’t before:

  A shared vision.

  A chance.

  A door not to escape from, but to open together.