Making the promise to navigate the distance, to make 'us' work despite our different paths, felt like lifting a heavy weight off our shoulders. It didn't magically erase the challenges, but it solidified our resolve. The fear of the unknown future was still there, but now it was accompanied by a shared determination to face it together.
The days following my university decision and our rooftop promise felt different. There was a quiet understanding between Sakura and me, a deeper layer of connection born from acknowledging the difficulties ahead and choosing to tackle them as a team.
We told Kenji and Aiko about my decision. Kenji, true to form, slapped me on the back.
"Nice! Literature program, huh? Good for you, man! Pursue the stories!" He grinned. "So, long distance thing? You guys serious about that?"
"Yeah, Kenji," I said, glancing at Sakura, who smiled softly. "We're serious."
Kenji's grin softened into a more genuine smile. "Alright! If anyone can make weird stuff work, it's you two. Just... don't forget to visit! And send pictures of the cafeteria!" His blunt support, filtered through his usual jokes, was exactly what I needed.
Aiko's reaction was quieter. She looked at us, her eyes holding a gentle understanding.
"That's a brave decision, Hiroshi," she said softly. "And wonderful that you're choosing your path. It will be difficult with the distance, but... I believe you both can manage it."
Her simple words, carrying the weight of genuine belief, were incredibly comforting. Kenji offered the external enthusiasm, Aiko offered the quiet, internal validation.
Living with the decision meant our conversations about the future became more focused, more practical. It wasn't just "what if" anymore; it was "how." How often could we visit? How would we balance university demands with seeing each other? What were our budgets for train tickets?
These were less romantic topics than confessing feelings or overcoming misunderstandings, but they were crucial to the reality of our relationship's next phase. We spent time researching train routes, comparing ticket prices, and looking at potential schedules. It felt like planning a complicated project, but the project was our future together.
There were moments of apprehension. Looking at train schedules, seeing the travel time and cost, could be daunting. Sometimes, a flicker of doubt would cross Sakura's face, mirrored by my own.
"It's... a long ride," she commented one afternoon, looking at a train route.
"Yeah," I agreed. "But we can bring books. Or watch movies together on the train."
We found ways to turn the practical challenges into shared activities, trying to infuse them with the same spirit of tackling problems together that had defined our high school relationship.
The promise we made on the rooftop wasn't just words; it was a commitment that required ongoing effort and planning. It added a layer of seriousness to our remaining time in high school, a sense that every moment together before the physical distance became real was precious.
We still enjoyed our final months of high school life – the club activities, time with friends, simple dates. But underlying it all was the quiet awareness of the approaching graduation, the looming universities, and the miles that would soon separate us.
The weight of the promise wasn't heavy with dread, but with the importance of what we were choosing to build. It was a conscious effort to ensure that our unexpected love story didn't end with high school, but evolved into something stronger, something that could span the distance. Facing these practicalities together, hand in hand, felt like the first real steps on the path we had chosen – the path towards a future defined not by expectations, but by our shared determination.