Sakura left for her Todai orientation. The school felt different without her presence. Quieter. My routine felt off. It wasn't just the lack of seeing her; it was the knowledge that she was far away, in a different city, stepping into the world that would soon be her reality.
We had planned to text and call, but the reality of her packed schedule and the time difference (even a small one) meant communication wasn't as constant as usual. There would be long stretches of silence, broken by a quick "Just finished a session, it's amazing here!" text or a brief evening call where she sounded exhausted but excited.
I tried to be supportive, listening eagerly when she did call, asking questions about the campus and the program. Her excitement about Todai was palpable, and hearing it, seeing her face light up even on a video call, filled me with pride for her. But it also amplified that quiet ache of distance, the reminder that this vibrant, demanding world was hers alone, and I was experiencing it secondhand.
During one call, she was telling me about meeting some professors. Her voice was full of awe and enthusiasm.
"They were incredible, Hiroshi! So knowledgeable, so passionate about their research! And the campus library... it's huge! I could spend days in there!"
"That's awesome, Sakura," I said genuinely, trying to match her enthusiasm.
"Yeah," she said, her smile fading slightly. "It's just... it feels like where I'm supposed to be, you know? Like I fit here."
Her words, while not intended to hurt, highlighted the difference. This felt like where she was supposed to be. Where did I fit into that picture? Where was I supposed to be?
The silence on the line stretched for a moment.
"And you'll be amazing there, Sakura," I said, trying to bridge the sudden emotional distance that conversation created. "You were made for this."
She smiled, a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you, Hiroshi-kun. Hearing that... it helps. Even when it feels a little overwhelming."
She then talked about meeting other accepted students. "Everyone is so smart, Hiroshi! So focused! They've all done incredible things! It's... a little intimidating, honestly."
This was the other side of the coin. The pressure wasn't just external; it was also the internal pressure of being surrounded by peers who were all at the top tier, all aiming for excellence. Hearing her admit this vulnerability, even amidst her excitement, made her feel more relatable, less like the untouchable idol and more like the girl who carried a heavy burden and sometimes felt overwhelmed.
"You're incredibly smart and focused too, Sakura," I said firmly. "You earned your place there just as much as anyone else. Don't let anyone make you doubt that."
My words seemed to resonate. She smiled, a more genuine, relaxed smile this time. "Thanks, Hiroshi. You always know how to... ground me."
The calls and texts continued, snippets of her Todai experience interspersed with moments of quiet connection. The silence across the miles was a challenge, a test of our ability to maintain the bond when physical presence wasn't possible. It required effort, understanding, and trust.
Missing her was constant. The anxiety about the future distance didn't disappear. But hearing her voice, sharing in her excitement and her quiet moments of doubt, and being able to offer her support even from afar, felt like we were actively working to bridge the miles. The orientation was a glimpse into her future world, a world I couldn't physically enter yet, but one we were trying to navigate together, one conversation, one text at a time, across the growing silence.