*December 20th - Winter Break Begins*
Haruki's childhood bedroom looked exactly the same as when he'd left for university two years ago—the same navy blue walls, the same desk where he'd struggled through high school calculus, the same bookshelf lined with manga and novels he'd outgrown but couldn't bring himself to donate. It felt like stepping into a museum exhibit of his former self.
He set his suitcase on the bed and looked around, noting how small everything seemed now. The room that had once felt like his entire world could barely contain his current sense of himself—the person who'd learned to do research, who'd fallen in love properly, who'd stood in front of a classroom and shared his story with confidence.
"Haruki?" His mother's voice drifted up from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"
"Coming!" he called back, though he took another moment to text Noa: *Made it home safely. Everything looks smaller than I remembered. How's your train ride going?*
Her response came quickly: *Still two hours out. My mom has already texted me three times asking if I'm eating enough. Some things never change.*
*Some things do, though. We're not the same people who left here in September.*
*No, we're not. Call me tonight?*
*Definitely. Love you.*
*Love you too.*
---
Dinner with his parents was a careful dance of catching up without revealing too much. They asked about his classes, his grades, his plans for next semester. He answered honestly but generally, not yet ready to explain how much he'd changed or why.
"You seem different," his mother observed as they cleared the dishes. "More... settled, somehow."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. More confident, maybe? Like you've figured something out."
His father, who'd been mostly quiet during dinner, looked up from his newspaper. "Are you happy there? At the new school?"
The question caught Haruki off guard with its directness. His father wasn't usually one for emotional inquiries.
"Yes," he said, and realized how true it was. "I'm really happy there."
"Good. That's what matters."
Later that evening, Haruki sat in his old room with his laptop, video-calling Noa while she unpacked in her childhood bedroom three hours away by train.
"Show me your room," he said, and she turned the laptop so he could see her space—pale yellow walls covered with academic achievement certificates, a desk that looked like it had been organized by someone's mother, stuffed animals that she'd probably owned since elementary school.
"It's very... wholesome," he observed.
"Shut up. Your room probably looks like a shrine to your high school self."
"It absolutely does. There's a poster of a baseball player I haven't cared about in five years."
"See? We're both trapped in our former selves for the next three weeks."
They talked for over an hour, sharing details about their respective homecomings, their families' reactions, the strange experience of returning to places that felt both familiar and foreign.
"My mom keeps asking about my 'boyfriend,'" Noa said, making air quotes. "She wants to know if you're serious about your studies, if you come from a good family, if you have career prospects."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you're the smartest person I know, that you're presenting research at an academic conference, and that you make me happy in ways I didn't know were possible."
"How did she respond to that?"
"She wants to meet you. Preferably soon."
Haruki felt his stomach flutter with nerves. "What do you think about that?"
"I think I want my parents to know the person who's become so important to me. But I'm also terrified they'll somehow diminish what we have by treating it like a typical college relationship."
"It's not typical."
"No, it's not. But try explaining that to parents who think all college relationships are just practice for 'real' adult relationships."
They talked until late, reluctant to end the call and return to their separate worlds. When they finally said goodnight, Haruki lay in his narrow childhood bed staring at the ceiling, processing the strangeness of being home while feeling like home was actually a person three hours away.
---
The next morning brought the conversation he'd been dreading. His mother cornered him in the kitchen while he was making coffee, settling at the table with her own cup and the expression that meant she wanted to talk about something important.
"So," she said without preamble. "Are you going to tell me why you really transferred schools?"
Haruki nearly choked on his coffee. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you gave us a very polite explanation about wanting a fresh start and better research opportunities, but I'm your mother. I know when you're not telling me the whole story."
He sat down across from her, buying time by adding sugar to his coffee even though he didn't usually take sugar.
"It's complicated," he said finally.
"Most important things are."
Haruki looked at his mother—really looked at her—and saw not just the person who'd raised him, but someone who might actually understand what he'd been through.
"I was in love with my friend Mirei," he said quietly. "Or I thought I was. I told her how I felt, and it ruined everything. Our friendship, our friend group, my entire social world at school."
His mother nodded, waiting for him to continue.
"So I transferred. I thought I was running away from a mistake, but really I was running toward the possibility of learning how to do relationships better."
"And did you? Learn how to do relationships better?"
"I think so. I met someone—Noa, the girl I've been talking to on the phone. She's... she's teaching me the difference between being attached to someone and actually loving them."
"What's the difference?"
Haruki considered the question, thinking about all the conversations he'd had with Professor Akizuki, all the research he'd done, all the ways Noa had shown him what healthy love looked like.
"Attachment is about what someone does for you—how they make you feel, what they give you, how they fit into your idea of what you want. Love is about who they actually are, and choosing to support their growth even when it's inconvenient for you."
His mother was quiet for a long moment, sipping her coffee and studying his face.
"That's very wise," she said finally. "And very mature. I'm proud of you for learning that distinction."
"You are?"
"Of course I am. Most people spend years—sometimes their whole lives—confusing attachment with love. The fact that you figured it out at twenty is remarkable."
Haruki felt something loosen in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
"I'd like to meet her," his mother continued. "This Noa who's teaching you about love."
"She'd like to meet you too. She's nervous about it, but she wants to."
"Why is she nervous?"
"Because what we have feels important, and she's afraid other people won't understand how serious it is."
"How serious is it?"
Haruki met his mother's eyes, feeling the weight of the question and the honesty of his answer.
"I think she's the person I want to build a life with. Not someday, not eventually, but starting now. We're applying to graduate programs in the same area, we're talking about moving in together next year, we're making decisions as a team."
"That does sound serious."
"It is serious. But it's also... easy. Natural. Like we're not trying to force something to work, we're just supporting something that already works."
His mother smiled—the first genuinely pleased expression he'd seen from her since he'd arrived home.
"I definitely want to meet her," she said. "Maybe she could visit during break? Or we could drive up to meet her family?"
"Really?"
"Really. If she's as important to you as you say she is, then she's important to us too."
---
That afternoon, Haruki called Noa with the news that his parents wanted to meet her, and was surprised by her immediate enthusiasm.
"They do? Really? What did you tell them about me?"
"The truth. That you're brilliant and kind and that you're teaching me how to love properly."
"You told your parents I'm teaching you how to love?"
"Among other things. My mom wants to know if you'd like to visit, or if we should come meet your family."
"Oh god. This is really happening, isn't it? We're doing the meeting-the-parents thing."
"Are you okay with that?"
"I'm terrified and excited and completely unprepared, but yes. I want them to know you. I want your parents to see why I'm so crazy about their son."
They spent the next hour planning logistics—when Noa could visit, how long she could stay, what his parents should know about her family and background. It felt simultaneously momentous and completely natural, like the obvious next step in building a life together.
"Haruki," Noa said as their call was winding down.
"Yeah?"
"I love that you told your parents the truth about us. About how serious this is, about what we mean to each other."
"I love that you want to meet them. That you're not scared off by the idea of integrating our families."
"I'm definitely scared. But I'm more excited than scared."
"Me too."
After they hung up, Haruki sat in his childhood room feeling like he was balanced between two worlds—the person he'd been before he met Noa, and the person he was becoming because of her. The transition felt significant but not jarring, like growing into a version of himself he'd always had the potential to be.
Outside his window, snow was beginning to fall over the familiar streets of his hometown. But for the first time since he'd arrived, home didn't feel like a place he was visiting—it felt like a foundation he was building on, a starting point for the life he was choosing to create.
The life he was choosing to create with Noa.
---
*End of Chapter 23*