The next two weeks blurred into a grind.
Classes intensified—midterms loomed, professors piled on readings, group projects formed. Sora's literature seminars demanded essays; Akira's engineering labs demanded precision and late nights.
They saw each other less.
Mornings: quick coffee in the cafeteria.
Afternoons: stolen study sessions in the library—heads bent over notes, knees touching under the table.
Evenings: one of them sneaking into the other's dorm—quiet footsteps in hallways, doors clicking shut.
One night Sora arrived at Akira's room after 11 p.m.—hair messy, hoodie oversized, carrying instant ramen and a bag of convenience-store snacks.
Akira opened the door—shirt untucked, glasses slightly crooked.
She slipped inside.
He closed the door. Locked it.
They didn't speak at first.
Sora set the food on his desk.
Akira pulled her into his arms—tight, almost desperate.
She hugged him back—face buried in his chest.
They stayed like that—breathing each other in.
Sora mumbled against his shirt, "I missed you."
Akira's voice was rough. "I missed you more."
They ate sitting on the floor—back against the bed, legs tangled.
Sora spoke around a mouthful of ramen. "I got turned down for the campus café job. They said I'm overqualified."
Akira snorted. "You're too good for pouring coffee."
She elbowed him. "Says the guy who got rejected from the library assistant position because he's 'too advanced.'"
Akira laughed—quiet, real.
They finished eating.
Sora leaned against him—head on his shoulder.
Akira's arm went around her.
She spoke softly. "We're barely seeing each other. Classes, labs, jobs… it's hard."
Akira's thumb traced circles on her arm. "It's temporary. We'll adjust."
Sora looked up. "What if we don't?"
Akira met her eyes. "We will. Because we're us."
Sora smiled—small, tired. "You're so sure."
"Because I know you. And I know me. And I know we're better together than apart."
Sora's eyes filled.
Akira cupped her face—kissed her gently.
She kissed him back—deeper.
Hands wandered—slow, careful.
They ended up on his bed—clothes on, arms around each other.
Sora curled against his chest.
Akira held her—tight.
They talked—quiet, late into the night.
About fears. About money. About parents. About the future.
About how much they loved each other.
When Sora fell asleep—breath soft, hand over his heart—Akira stayed awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Planning.
Promising himself:
He would make this work.
For her.
For them.