The next few days passed in a strange kind of liminal space, like living in the aftermath of an earthquake when you're not sure if the tremors are over or just beginning. Haruki found himself hyperaware of every space on campus, wondering if Mirei might appear around any corner, in any classroom, at any table in the dining hall.
It wasn't fear, exactly. More like the particular exhaustion that comes from having to be emotionally prepared for difficult conversations at all times.
"You're doing it again," Noa said on Sunday evening as they sat in the common kitchen of their dormitory, sharing instant ramen and pretending to study.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you're physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely." She gestured with her chopsticks toward his untouched bowl. "You've been stirring those noodles for five minutes. They're going to disintegrate."
Haruki forced himself to take a bite, realizing she was right about the noodles and probably about everything else too. "Sorry. I'm still processing Thursday."
"Want to talk about it?"
They'd had this conversation in pieces over the weekend—fragments of honesty shared during walks across campus, while doing laundry in the basement, in the quiet moments before sleep when the wall between their rooms felt thin enough to whisper through. But there were still layers of complication they hadn't fully excavated.
"I keep thinking about what she said," Haruki admitted. "About being too late. About wanting to fix the past."
"What about it?"
"Part of me feels guilty. Like maybe if I'd handled things differently four months ago, she wouldn't have had to transfer schools to try to fix something that was broken."
Noa set down her chopsticks and looked at him directly. "Haruki, you know that's not your responsibility, right? Her decision to avoid dealing with your confession for four months, then transfer schools instead of having a difficult conversation—that's about her patterns, not your actions."
"But I'm the one who confessed. I'm the one who changed the dynamic."
"You're the one who was honest about your feelings. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." Noa's voice carried the particular conviction she brought to discussions about psychology. "Being honest about how you feel isn't the same as demanding that someone else change their feelings to accommodate yours. You told her how you felt. She chose not to deal with it directly. You respected her choice and removed yourself from a situation that was hurting you. That's emotional maturity, not cowardice."
Haruki considered this. "You sound very sure about that."
"I am sure about that. I'm also sure that you carrying guilt about her choices isn't helping anyone, least of all her."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if she's really trying to grow and learn from this experience, she needs to own her part in how things went wrong. She can't do that if you're accepting responsibility for decisions that weren't yours to make."
It was the kind of insight that made Haruki grateful for Noa's psychology background, her ability to untangle emotional situations with the same clear thinking she brought to research problems.
"When did you get so wise about relationships?" he asked.
"Extensive reading and a natural gift for overanalyzing other people's emotional patterns while avoiding my own." She smiled wryly. "Also, it's easier to see clearly when you're not the one drowning in the situation."
"Are you worried about her being here? About what it means for us?"
Noa was quiet for a moment, considering. "Honestly? A little. Not because I think you're going to suddenly decide you want to be with her instead—I trust what we have more than that. But because complicated situations have a way of bringing out everyone's worst impulses."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning she might not give up as easily as she seemed to in Professor Akizuki's classroom. Meaning you might feel obligated to help her adjust or process her feelings, which could get messy. Meaning I might get more possessive or insecure than I want to be, which would be bad for everyone involved."
The honesty of it was both refreshing and slightly terrifying. They'd gotten good at being direct with each other, but this level of preemptive emotional analysis felt like new territory.
"What do we do about that?" Haruki asked.
"We keep talking to each other. We don't let assumptions build up into resentment. And we remember that what we have is worth protecting, even when—especially when—protecting it requires difficult conversations."
---
Monday morning brought the first test of this philosophy. Haruki was walking out of his Modern Japanese Literature class when he spotted Mirei sitting alone at a table in the student center, looking lost in a way that tugged at every protective instinct he'd developed over years of friendship with her.
She saw him at the same moment, and something hopeful flickered across her face before being quickly suppressed. She raised her hand in a small wave—friendly but not presumptuous, an invitation without pressure.
*Keep walking,* advised the part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Noa's voice from the night before. *You don't owe her your emotional energy just because she's having trouble adjusting.*
But she looked so alone, and he knew how overwhelming the first week at a new school could be even under the best circumstances.
Haruki changed direction, walking toward her table.
"Hey," he said, stopping a careful distance away. "How's the settling-in going?"
"Oh." Mirei looked startled, as if she hadn't expected him to approach despite her wave. "It's... a lot. Everything's so different from our old school. Bigger, more impersonal. I'm still figuring out where everything is."
"It takes time. I felt completely lost for the first few weeks."
"Really? You seem so settled here now."
*Because I had time to adjust without the added complication of facing my romantic past,* Haruki thought but didn't say. "Do you need help finding anything? The buildings can be confusing until you get used to the layout."
"Actually, yes. I'm looking for the financial aid office, and my map is apparently from 1995 because nothing is where it says it should be."
Haruki couldn't help smiling. "The financial aid office moved two years ago. It's in the basement of the administration building now. I can walk you over if you want—I'm heading that direction anyway."
It was a small lie. He'd been planning to meet Noa at the library, but the financial aid office wasn't far out of the way, and helping Mirei with something concrete and limited felt safer than leaving her looking lost and overwhelmed.
"That would be amazing. Thank you."
They walked across campus together, and for a few minutes, it felt almost like old times—easy conversation, shared observations about professors and campus quirks, the comfortable rhythm they'd developed over years of friendship. But underneath the familiarity, Haruki was acutely aware of the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had changed between them.
"Haruki," Mirei said as they approached the administration building.
"Yeah?"
"I know Thursday was awkward. I know my being here complicates things for you. But I want you to know that I'm not here to cause problems. I'm not going to try to..." She paused, searching for words. "I'm not going to try to win you back or break up what you have with Noa."
"I appreciate that."
"I mean it. I can see that you're happy, and I don't want to take that away from you. I just... I needed to try to make things right between us, even if 'right' doesn't mean what I hoped it would."
They'd stopped walking now, standing on the steps of the administration building. Students flowed around them, absorbed in their own academic emergencies and social dramas.
"Mirei," Haruki said gently, "what does 'making things right' look like to you?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe just... not having this horrible tension every time we see each other? Maybe eventually being able to be in the same room without it being weird?" She looked down at her hands. "Maybe someday being friends again, if that's possible."
"It might be possible. In time. But it's going to require both of us being very clear about boundaries."
"What kind of boundaries?"
Haruki thought about his conversation with Noa, about the importance of protecting what they were building together.
"Like not having long conversations about our past relationship, or lack thereof. Like not using me as your primary source of emotional support while you adjust to being here. Like..." He paused, trying to find a way to say this kindly. "Like accepting that I'm with someone else now, and that relationship is my priority."
Mirei nodded, though he could see it hurt to hear. "That's fair. All of that's fair."
"And Mirei? You should talk to someone. A counselor, or a therapist, or at least a friend who isn't me. Transferring schools to chase after a relationship that didn't work out... that suggests some things you might want to work through."
"I know. I've been thinking about that too." She managed a small smile. "See? I told you I was trying to be braver."
"Good. I'm glad."
They said goodbye at the entrance to the administration building, and Haruki walked toward the library feeling like he'd handled the encounter reasonably well—helpful but not overly involved, kind but clear about boundaries.
He found Noa at their usual table, surrounded by research materials and looking slightly frazzled.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, settling into the chair beside her. "I ran into Mirei and ended up helping her find the financial aid office."
Noa looked up from her papers. "How did that go?"
"Better than I expected. We talked about boundaries, about what it would take for us to eventually be friends again." He reached for her hand, needing the grounding touch provided. "She seems to understand that this—us—is my priority."
"Good. That's good." Noa squeezed his hand gently. "How do you feel about it?"
"Relieved, mostly. Like maybe we can figure out how to coexist on the same campus without it being a constant source of drama."
"I hope so. For everyone's sake."
They settled into their usual study routine, but Haruki could sense a new layer of tension in Noa's focus, a watchfulness that hadn't been there before. It wasn't distrust, exactly—more like the hyperawareness of someone protecting something precious.
*This is what Mirei's presence costs us,* he realized. *Not trust, but ease. The simple comfort of not having to think about our relationship in the context of other possibilities.*
It wasn't Mirei's fault, exactly. But it wasn't nothing, either.
As afternoon faded into evening, Haruki found himself holding Noa's hand a little tighter, speaking his affection a little more clearly, working a little harder to make sure she knew that whatever complications Mirei's arrival had brought, they hadn't changed what he wanted.
Some things, he was learning, required more intention once they became more complicated.
But that didn't make them less worth fighting for.
---
*End of Chapter 10*