*May 18th - Four days before graduation*
The campus buzzed with the particular energy that came with graduation week—families arriving with cameras and flowers, seniors taking final photos at familiar landmarks, and the bittersweet atmosphere of endings that were also beginnings. Haruki stood outside the registrar's office with his official transcript, staring at four years of grades that somehow seemed inadequate to represent everything he'd learned and become.
His phone rang with a call from his parents, who'd arrived that morning and were currently exploring the campus where their son had transformed from a confused transfer student into someone with clear academic direction and a meaningful relationship.
"Where are you?" his mother asked. "We're standing outside the humanities building looking for Professor Akizuki's office."
"Third floor, room 312. I'll meet you there in five minutes."
He found his parents in the hallway outside Professor Akizuki's office, looking slightly overwhelmed by the academic environment but clearly proud to be there. Professor Akizuki emerged from her office with perfect timing, greeting them with the warmth she showed to all her students' families.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sakamoto, it's wonderful to meet you in person. Haruki has told me so much about you."
"Thank you for everything you've done for our son," his mother said immediately. "He's grown so much this year, and we know your guidance has been instrumental."
"Haruki is an exceptional student and researcher. You should be very proud of what he's accomplished."
They spent twenty minutes in Professor Akizuki's office, discussing Haruki's research, his graduate school plans, and the paper they'd be co-authoring over the summer. His parents asked thoughtful questions about his academic work, and Haruki felt the particular satisfaction that came from having his intellectual growth recognized by people whose opinions mattered to him.
"Where is Noa?" his father asked as they left the building. "We're looking forward to seeing her again."
"She's with her parents, doing the same campus tour we just did. We're all meeting for dinner tonight."
"How is she handling the early move to Chicago?"
"Excited about the research opportunity, nervous about starting the long-distance aspect of our relationship sooner than planned."
"And how are you handling it?"
Haruki considered the question as they walked across the quad toward his dorm. "Proud of her for getting such an amazing opportunity. Sad that we'll have less time together this summer. Confident that we can make the distance work."
"That's a very mature response," his mother observed.
"I've learned a lot about supporting someone else's goals even when it's inconvenient for me personally."
"That's one of the most important relationship skills you can develop," his father said. "Your mother and I have been practicing it for twenty-five years."
---
That evening, both sets of parents joined Haruki and Noa for dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, creating the kind of family gathering that felt both celebratory and significant. The conversation flowed easily between academic achievements, graduate school plans, and gentle teasing about the young couple's detailed strategies for maintaining their long-distance relationship.
"They've made charts," Noa's mother announced to the table, clearly amused by their systematic approach to romance. "Actual charts with communication schedules and visit planning."
"We prefer to think of it as being intentional about our relationship," Noa said, laughing at her mother's description.
"It's very organized," Haruki's father said approvingly. "Good planning prevents problems."
"That's what we're hoping," Haruki agreed. "We'd rather over-communicate about expectations than discover we have different assumptions about how this will work."
"Smart approach," Noa's father said. "Long-distance relationships require more conscious effort than proximity relationships."
"Have you thought about timeline?" his mother asked. "How long you expect to be separated?"
"At least five years for our PhD programs," Noa said. "But we're hoping to coordinate postdoc opportunities or academic jobs so we can be in the same city again eventually."
"That's a long time to maintain a relationship across distance," his mother observed gently.
"It is," Haruki acknowledged. "But we think supporting each other's academic goals now will create a stronger foundation for whatever comes next."
"And we genuinely enjoy each other's company," Noa added. "Even when we're discussing research or processing relationship dynamics. We're friends as well as romantic partners."
"That's the most important thing," her mother said warmly. "Romance is wonderful, but friendship is what sustains relationships through difficult periods."
The conversation continued through dessert, with both sets of parents sharing stories about their own relationship challenges and offering gentle advice about maintaining connection during major life transitions. Haruki felt grateful for the support and slightly amazed that their families had integrated so naturally.
"We should do this more often," his father said as they prepared to leave. "Family dinners when you're both visiting home."
"We'd love that," Noa said immediately. "It's nice to have both families invested in our relationship."
---
The next morning, Haruki woke early and walked across campus alone, wanting to process the significance of his last few days as an undergraduate student. The familiar paths looked different in the morning light—more nostalgic somehow, like he was already viewing them through the lens of memory rather than daily experience.
He found himself at the bench where he and Noa had spent so many hours talking through relationship insights and academic discoveries. Someone had left a graduation cap on the seat, probably dropped during late-night celebration, and he moved it carefully before sitting down.
His phone buzzed with a text from Noa: *Where are you? Want to take a final walk around campus together?*
*At our bench in the quad. Come find me.*
She appeared ten minutes later, looking like she'd also been awake early, processing the magnitude of everything that was ending and beginning.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, settling beside him on the familiar bench.
"Nostalgic. Grateful. Excited. Sad. All at the same time."
"That sounds about right for the day before graduation."
"What about you?"
"Similar. Plus overwhelmed by how much I've changed since freshman year."
"In what ways?"
Noa considered the question, looking out at the campus where she'd spent four years becoming the person she was now.
"I used to think academic success meant being perfect and independent. Now I know it means being curious and collaborative."
"When did that change?"
"Gradually, but this year especially. Working on my thesis, taking Professor Akizuki's class, learning how to be in a relationship that supports growth instead of limiting it."
"You've taught me similar things. About the difference between thinking about emotions and actually experiencing them. About how vulnerability can feel like safety with the right person."
"We've been good teachers for each other."
"The best teachers."
They sat in comfortable silence, both processing the year they'd shared and the future they were planning together despite geographic distance and academic pressure.
"Can I tell you something?" Noa said eventually.
"Always."
"I'm not scared about Chicago anymore. I was nervous about leaving early, about starting the long-distance thing before we felt ready. But now I'm just excited."
"What changed?"
"Realizing that we've been preparing for this all year without knowing it. Every time we supported each other through stress, every time we chose to communicate directly instead of avoiding difficult conversations, every time we celebrated each other's achievements—we were building the skills we'll need for long-distance."
"Plus, we'll both be doing work we're passionate about. That should make the separation easier to handle."
"And we have families who support our relationship and mentors who believe in our ability to make it work."
"Plus detailed communication plans," Haruki added, grinning.
"Plus detailed communication plans."
---
That afternoon, they attended the senior reception in the humanities building, where faculty members mingled with graduating students and their families. Professor Akizuki found them near the refreshment table, looking pleased and slightly emotional about seeing her students reach this milestone.
"How does it feel to be almost-graduates?" she asked.
"Surreal," Noa said immediately. "Like we should feel more different than we do."
"You are different than you were nine months ago. You just can't see it clearly because the change has been gradual."
"In what ways are we different?" Haruki asked.
"You're both more confident in your academic abilities, more intentional about your relationship choices, and more skilled at supporting each other's individual growth."
"Those are significant changes."
"They are. And they're exactly the kinds of changes that will serve you well in graduate school and beyond."
Dr. Chen approached their group, carrying a glass of wine and looking pleased to see Noa.
"I wanted to congratulate you again on your thesis defense," she said. "And to tell you how excited our research team is about having you join us this summer."
"Thank you. I'm looking forward to getting started."
"Dr. Patel mentioned that you'll be working on the longitudinal attachment study. That's exactly the kind of research experience that will strengthen your graduate application and prepare you for dissertation work."
"It feels like everything is connecting—my undergraduate research, the summer opportunity, my graduate program focus."
"That's what happens when you're clear about your academic goals and willing to pursue opportunities that align with them."
Professor Akizuki and Dr. Chen began discussing the paper that Haruki, Noa, and Professor Akizuki would be co-authoring, and Haruki felt the particular satisfaction that came from being included in professional academic conversations as an emerging colleague rather than just a student.
"You know," Dr. Chen said to both of them, "you should consider presenting your collaborative research at next year's psychology conference. The work you're doing on attachment pattern development would be of significant interest to the field."
"Really?" Noa asked. "You think our research is conference-worthy?"
"I think your research is publication-worthy. A conference presentation would be excellent preparation for academic careers."
---
As the reception wound down, Haruki and Noa found themselves alone in the hallway outside Professor Akizuki's classroom—the room where they'd first met and learned the vocabulary that had helped them understand their own relationship.
"Should we go in?" Noa asked. "One last look at where it all started?"
The classroom was empty and quiet, with chairs arranged for summer courses and the whiteboard clean of the attachment theory diagrams that had filled it during their semester together. But Haruki could picture it exactly as it had been that first day when he'd walked in by mistake and found something he hadn't known he was looking for.
"This is where you explained the difference between secure and anxious attachment," he said, pointing to the spot where Noa had been sitting.
"This is where you asked whether people could change their attachment patterns," she replied, indicating his usual seat.
"This is where we learned that love doesn't have to be complicated to be real."
"This is where we learned that the best relationships support individual growth instead of limiting it."
"This is where we learned how to love each other well."
They stood in the empty classroom, both aware that they were saying goodbye to more than just a physical space—they were transitioning out of the phase of their relationship where they'd been learning how to be together and into the phase where they'd be practicing those skills across distance and time.
"Ready for tomorrow?" Noa asked as they turned to leave.
"Ready to graduate, ready to celebrate what we've accomplished, ready to start the next phase of our lives."
"Even though it means being apart?"
"Even though it means being apart. Because being apart temporarily is the price of both of us becoming the people we want to be."
"That's very wise."
"I learned it from you."
"We learned it from each other."
Outside the humanities building, the campus was settling into evening quiet, with families and students preparing for graduation day. But inside the classroom where their relationship had begun, two people who'd learned to love each other intentionally stood ready to face whatever challenges and opportunities lay ahead.
Together, even when they were apart.
---
*End of Chapter 36*