The shop's mirror reflected more than fabric—it reflected Sayaka's reaction. Eadlyn caught it instantly, the way her eyes widened, the way her composure faltered as if she had glimpsed something unexpected. The lady at the counter noticed too, and both she and Eadlyn exchanged a silent laugh. Sayaka looked, in that moment, like a maiden seeing her first love.
Eadlyn stepped forward, cheeky smile tugging at his lips. "How was it?" he asked, voice light but teasing.
Sayaka blinked, breaking free from her daze. "Well… it certainly looks good on you," she replied, turning quickly to hide the blush rising to her cheeks.
Eadlyn gave the shopkeeper a thumbs‑up, who returned it with amusement. For him, the moment carried more weight than he let on. He had never felt this instinct before—not with his friends back in the US. Around them, he had always been confident, sometimes aloof, never diminished. But with Sayaka, something shifted. Her quiet poise made him feel smaller, not in humiliation but in recognition. She carries herself with assurance I don't yet have, he thought. Why do I feel like a loser before her? Maybe it's instinct—or maybe it's the way she belongs here, woven into my grandparents' lives in ways I haven't earned yet.
They left the shop together, Eadlyn carrying the bags. "Any good restaurants nearby?" he asked.
Sayaka nodded, leading him to a wide, familiar place she often visited. They slipped into a table at the back, the hum of conversation surrounding them. A waitress approached, professional and polite, and soon their orders were placed.
As they waited, Sayaka tilted her head, curiosity breaking through her shyness. "Are you a foreigner, Eadlyn?"
"Yes," he replied. "This is my first visit to Japan."
Her gaze lingered, thoughtful. He wondered if she already knew more about him than he realized. His grandmother had mentioned how often Sayaka checked in, how her family visited during festivals, bringing food and laughter. She wasn't just a neighbor—she was already part of their circle, trusted and dependable. That knowledge deepened his sense of being an outsider, yet it also stirred admiration.
Their food arrived, fragrant and warm. They ate quickly, conversation flowing in small bursts. When the bill came, Eadlyn paid without hesitation, though Sayaka had tried to offer. The instinctive moment when he caught her hand to stop her startled them both. Neither was used to touch, and the brief contact left them flustered. He broke the tension with a smile. "I'll pay. My treat."
Outside, the afternoon stretched ahead. Sayaka asked softly, "What do you want to do next?"
"How about a movie?" he suggested.
Her eyes lit up. "There's a theatre at the end of this street. Some good films are premiering."
They walked together, their steps falling into rhythm. At the theatre, Eadlyn asked, "What kind of movies do you like?"
"Romantic ones," she admitted, "and some science fiction too."
Scanning the list, Eadlyn spotted a romance titled Eternity Love. He bought the tickets, brushing aside her attempt to pay. Inside, they found seats in the middle of the room.
The film unfolded: an immortal man who loved a mortal woman, searching for her through lifetimes, surrendering his immortality at last so they could live and die together.
Eadlyn watched, struck by the story's resonance. This is what novels taught me—love as endurance, sacrifice, and choice. Not fleeting sparks, but devotion that survives time itself. He glanced at Sayaka, her eyes fixed on the screen, and wondered if she too believed in such love.