The Berlin residency became a silent presence in their apartment. Not a decision made, but a possibility that hovered like autumn mist.
Haruka's parents invited them for dinner—a familiar refuge when life felt complicated. Yumi, always perceptive, noticed the tension immediately. The way Sakura and Haruka moved around each other, careful and measured.
"Tell me about this opportunity," Yumi said during dinner, her tone gentle but direct.
Haruka explained the residency. Six months of intensive photography work. Access to European art scenes. A chance to expand her portfolio, to challenge her artistic boundaries.
"And you?" Yumi looked at Sakura. "What do you think?"
The question hung in the air. Not just about the residency, but about everything. Their relationship. Their individual dreams. The delicate balance they had created.
"It's important," Sakura said finally. "Your art. Your growth."
But the words felt like a carefully constructed facade.
That night, back in their apartment, the conversation they had been avoiding could no longer be postponed.
"I don't want to hold you back," Sakura whispered.
Haruka's response was immediate. "You could never hold me back. You make me better."
They talked through possibilities. Video calls. Visits. Ways to maintain connection across distance. But beneath the practical discussion lay deeper fears. Of losing each other. Of losing themselves.
Tokyo outside seemed to listen. The city of millions of stories understood something about separation and connection.
Their love was being tested. Not broken. Just... examined.