Aiko Sato stepped off the plane in Riverview, USA, with a mix of excitement and culture shock swirling like green tea in a turbulent cup. Her host family, the Walkers, greeted her with warm smiles and awkward nods – she'd studied American mannerisms, but _konnichiwa_ didn't quite translate to "hey" in Iowa.
Riverview's Midwestern plainness contrasted sharply with Tokyo's neon-saturated streets. Aiko inhaled scents unfamiliar – fresh-cut grass mingled with sweet corn smells wafting like _okonomiyaki_ vapors back home. Her luggage held neatly folded _yukata_, textbooks on American idioms ("It's raining cats and dogs" still made her giggle), and dreams of bridging worlds.
At the Walker household – beige sofa, framed family photos, Mrs. Walker's insistent "make yourself at home" – Aiko felt polite disorientation. Her English was _daijoubu_ (good), but nuances hid like _kawaii_ emojis in plain text.
"Welcome, Aiko!" Mr. Walker boomed, handing her a giant iced coffee. "We'll get you settled in no time."
Aiko's smile felt plastered. _Coffee? Not green tea?_ She sipped politely, heat rushing cheeks as she translated internally: _Americans like big drinks. Not like Japanese sencha._
School – Riverview High – bustled like Tokyo's Shibuya Crossing minus the neon. Aiko's homeroom teacher, Ms. Thompson, introduced her with _gaijin_-friendly enthusiasm ("Everyone, say hi to Aiko!"). Students murmured hellos; one guy lingered looking curious – Ethan Carlisle, basketball-player tall with messy brown hair.
Ethan caught her eye, waved awkwardly. Aiko's _ejimi_ (smile) felt rusty. _Does he think I'm cute?_ Pidgin thoughts danced as she unpacked _randoseru_ (backpack) in ESL class.
Break time: Aiko grabbed _onigiri_ from lunchbox; cafeteria mates stared like she'd pulled _mochi_ out of thin air.
"Japanese food?" Ethan asked, hovering. "What's that?"
"_Onigiri_," Aiko said slowly. "Rice ball."
Ethan's face lit quiz-show style. "Like sushi?"
Aiko laughed (_warai_). "Not sushi. Simple."
Their words danced – hers careful, his charmingly clunky. _Maybe he wants to talk?_
Afternoons blurred – classes, _kanji_ homework vs. American lit essays, Walker-family dinners where "pass the mashed potatoes" needed no translation. Aiko practiced phrases: "How's your day?" (_Ogenki desu ka?_ counterpart). Responses varied – Americans seemed direct like _senpai_ advice.
Ethan lingered after Thursday's club meeting (she'd joined _Nihon Bunka_ – Japanese culture club). "Hey, wanna grab a walk? Riverview's got…walks."
Aiko hesitated (_enryo_). "_Hai_, okay."
Outside, maples shed gold leaves like _momiji_ autumn Tokyo. Ethan talked easy – sports, food ("Try burgers here!"). Aiko countered with _ramen_ stories. Laughter felt like shared _omamori_ (charms).
As sun dipped lowa-flat, Ethan said, "You're like…really cool, Aiko."
Aiko's _kokoro_ skipped (_kawaii_ flurry). _Cool? Translation gap?_ "_Arigatou_," she said softly.
Ethan looked puzzled. "Means…thanks?"
"_Hai_," Aiko smiled. _Understood._
Night fell; Aiko lay in Walker-guestroom _futon_, replaying Ethan's words like _karaoke_ loops. _Like…really cool._ Did Americans mean _suki_ (like)? Her mind did linguistic pirouettes – maybe he meant…
Phone buzzed – text Ethan: _Goodnight :)_
Her reply: _Oyasumi_ :)
Did _oyasumi_ translate "goodnight" right? _Maybe he'll teach me slang._
Sleep crept with Tokyo-Riverview dreams mingling – _mochi_, basketball sneakers, words needing bridges.
Days patterned – school, culture club (_origami_ demos Aiko led), Ethan-corridors encounters growing less _gairaigo_ (foreign-word stiff). They'd chat _kawaii_ food ("_Pocky_!"), shows ("_Anime_!"), Riverview oddities ("corn maze?").
One library afternoon Ethan leaned close reading _haiku_ she'd translated. "These are deep."
Aiko felt _hazukashii_ (shy). "Old…Japanese."
Ethan's eyes crinkled. "Guess you're teaching me stuff."
_Teaching?_ Aiko's pulse did Tokyo-_shinjuku_-G-style beat. _Does he like me?_
Translation gaps hid feelings maybe mutual.
Weekend Walker-family outing: cornfield "maze" like _meiro_ games back home minus tech. Ethan paired with her; laughter stuck like _yummy gyudon_ sauce.
Lost amid stalks, Ethan grasped her hand suddenly. "Shortcut?"
Aiko's _te_ tingled (_kimochi_). _Is this…Amerikan?_
Exit found; sun slanted gold like _kinako_ powder. Ethan didn't drop hand – warmth felt like un-translated _koi_ (love?).
"Hey," he said low. "You're…different nice."
Aiko's breath caught. _Different nice._ Her Tokyo heart danced Iowa steps.
No words needed full translation then – something passed like _haru_ breeze both knew.