I have a plan. Or at least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

After researching all the ins and outs of the Institute’s application process, I’ve determined I can make the latest deadline for fall admission if I complete my piece and my statement right after I get back from spring break. Somehow, I know it has to be a whole new piece; I’m not going to apply with a Kimi Original I’ve already created. I just have to figure out what garment is going to express absolutely everything about who I am and who I want to be as a designer.

No pressure.

I stay up most of the night, sketching feverishly. I discard nearly everything I draw. Nothing feels right.

As the sun creeps over the horizon, I realize I haven’t heard from Akira since we parted two days ago. That’s odd. I mean, I haven’t texted him, either, but I’ve been super busy having important revelations about myself.

I force myself to put down my sketchbook and send him a text, asking if he wants to meet up later.

I think I’ve finally cracked the case! I impulsively add at the last minute. Can’t wait to tell you about it.

I start sketching again and can’t help but smile as I imagine talking to Akira about everything from the day before: my heart-to-heart with Grandma and looking through Mom’s sketchbook and taking the first step toward pursuing something I love. He’ll be so excited. I picture his face lighting up, that adorable dimple making an appearance. Him sweeping me into his arms and holding me tight. All of it just makes my smile get bigger.

I still can’t figure out my application outfit, though. I frown at the page. What I’m sketching isn’t right, yet again. I scribble over it and flip to a new page.

After a couple hours of this, I realize that it’s breakfast time and I’m starving. I go eat with my grandparents. Come back to my room, sketch some more. Decide to try for a change of scenery and go sit at the living room table with Grandpa, who’s working on his trains again. Sketch, sketch, sketch.

It’s almost lunchtime and I still haven’t heard from Akira. I frown at my phone. Where is he? I know he’s working this morning at the mochi stand, but it’s unlike him to be silent for this long. Especially since I have less than a week left in Japan and we’d talked about making the most of it …

I turn back to my sketchbook, but now I’m completely distracted. Well, I’m not getting anywhere with this amazing application outfit, anyway, so I might as well go see the cute boy I like. Maybe he’ll say something that will spur me on, inspire me.

“I’m going to Maruyama Park to get lunch at the market, Grandpa,” I say. “Would you like me to bring anything back?”

“No, Kimiko-chan, that is all right,” he says, disassembling the train he’s just pieced together. “Have a good time.”

I head out and take the train to Kyoto, then scurry through the park, giving a little wave to the stuffed tanuki as I pass by. I expect to be greeted by the familiar sight of Akira dancing around in his mochi costume, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

I frown, scanning the market, and finally spot him behind the counter at the mochi stand. No costume. I cross the market and wait patiently for him to finish helping a customer. Then I hop into his sightline, give him a bright smile, and throw my arms out, like ta-da!

“Hello,” I say cheerfully. “Why are you being so mysterious? Trying to get me to solve an all-new case: Where’s Akira?”

“Hi, Kimi,” he says. “Sorry, what?”

He looks tired around the eyes and his demeanor is muted—like someone’s turned his volume way, way down.

“Um.” I drop my arms to my sides. “You didn’t respond to any of my texts? I haven’t heard from you in, like, days and that’s pretty unusual in our current pattern of communication? Are you okay?”

“Oh. I apologize for not responding. I am … eto …” He pauses, like he’s trying to figure it out. “I am fine.”

“Are you sure?” I study him, trying to scrutinize every inch of his face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I—”

“Akira-kun!”

We both turn to see Uncle Okamoto bustling up to the stand. He says something to Akira in Japanese and makes a hand-waving motion. Akira shakes his head vehemently and says something back. Uncle hand-waves more forcefully, like he’s shooing Akira away. Akira moves to the side, still shaking his head, removes his apron, and exits the stand.

He comes to stand next to me, but his eyes are still trained on Uncle, who has turned his attention to an approaching customer.

“Hey,” I say softly. I touch Akira’s hand. “I was going to get some lunch. Are you hungry?” Maybe if we sit down and eat—one of our top five favorite things to do, after all—he’ll relax and tell me what’s bothering him.

He turns and gives me a blank look and I can’t help but feel stung. It’s so different from the way he usually looks at me—sweet and earnest and a little amused, but with that intensity playing underneath, hinting at all the deeper emotions I feel whenever he kisses me. Right now, it’s like he’s been leeched of all that and I’m a stranger. I could be anyone, standing in front of him.

I half expect him to turn me down, but finally he says, “Yes, all right.”

We find an onigiri stand selling a variety of flavors. I opt for a salmon and a kakuni and we settle on a nearby bench to eat. We chew in silence for a few minutes.

“Akira.” My voice is gentle. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He shakes his head, picking at the rice ball he’s eating. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly it’s something,” I press. “You’re upset.” I’ve never seen him like this and it makes my heart ache. I kind of want to murder whoever made him look so downtrodden, so robbed of hope. “Is it about your ojisan and the mochi stand? Did the market raise the rent again?”

“I …” He sets the onigiri down on its plastic wrap. “I think maybe it would be best if we do not see each other anymore.”

“What?!” I set my own rice ball down and goggle at him. He’s staring down at his food, refusing to meet my eyes. “How … how can you say that? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He shakes his head vehemently but refuses to meet my eyes.

“Then …” My brow furrows and I shake my head. I’m so confused. “Then why? What’s changed since we saw each other two days ago?”

Since we had that achingly deep, soul-searching conversation about our families. Since I talked to you like I’ve never talked to anyone. Since you kissed me like you were putting your entire soul into it—I think that’s how you do everything and it’s one of the reasons I … I …

“Kimi.” He finally meets my eyes. “You only have a few days left in Japan and you should enjoy them—”

“I want to enjoy them with you—”

“I am not good company right now.”

“And I get no say in that?” Frustration bubbles up in my chest, thick and toxic. “Because I’m the one you’re keeping company. I should be, like, the judge of how good the company is. And I do not agree with your assessment.”

“I also do not have time for … for distractions,” he says, turning away from me and glaring at the ground. “I just don’t have time.”

“I’m a distraction now?” Tears prick my eyes.

“I just … I think perhaps I’ve been spending time on the wrong things—”

“Y-you were the one who told me not to dismiss important stuff that way,” I press. “Even if it’s fun important stuff. Is that what you think of me? Of us hanging out? Of … of …” My voice cracks and I swallow hard. I don’t want to cry right now.

“I … eto … I think I’m not saying it right. I’m sorry.” He slumps back on the bench, his glare dissipating.

There are so many emotions crashing through me—anger and frustration claw for space and underneath it all, my heart feels like it’s about to shatter.

“Akira,” I say, my voice urgent. “Please tell me what’s going on. Please.”

He lets out a long sigh and turns to face me. “They are raising the rent on the stands at the market again,” he says, his voice dull. “It’s worse than what we thought it would be. Much worse—twice the amount as usual. Ojisan can’t afford it. He will have to close the mochi stand. His life’s work, his dream: gone just like that.”

“No,” I breathe, my eyes going wide. “There must be something we can do.”

“I can go work for him full-time, year-round,” Akira says, his eyes getting that intense look. “It would allow him to keep the stand open at all times and he could make more money. If I do that, he might have a chance to make rent.”

“But …” I frown, gnawing on my lower lip. “What about school? What about taking that first step toward becoming a doctor—that’s your dream.”

“It will have to wait,” he says.

But I can tell by the way his expression dims further: If he does this, his dream will be waiting forever.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and study him intently. As awesome as mochi is, it’s not what he wants to give his life to. How can I get him to remember that?

“I actually came here to—well, mostly to see you,” I begin, trying to find the words. “But I also wanted to tell you something. I realized that designing and making clothes is more than the ‘distraction’ I keep trying to describe it as. It’s my passion. It’s what I want to do with my life. I love it and it’s fun and it makes me so happy and all of that’s important. You were right, Akira, I do have all the clues I need to crack the case. And I finally figured it out, because of you and my obaasan and being here in Japan and looking at my mom’s old sketchbook.” I give him a small smile. “I’m applying to fashion design school.”

“Oh, Kimi, that is … that is wonderful.” He leans forward, that intensity flickering through his eyes, and squeezes my hand. “Truly. I am very happy for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks warming. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen—if I’ll get accepted or not, and what my mom will say and … and … well, who knows how everything will turn out. But I know that it’s worth it to try.”

Akira studies me, not saying anything. He doesn’t look as blank as he did before, though, and I take that as a sign of encouragement.

“Don’t you see?” I say. “You helped me realize it was important to go after what I want—that I had a dream right in front of me and I was totally ignoring it. And you …” I think of that little boy he described to me at Todaiji Temple, the one bustling over to Buddha’s nostril to dismantle it and uncover its secret biology. “You’ve always known your dream. Your passion. And you pursue it so enthusiastically. Nothing holds you back, you just do it. I love that about you.” I lock gazes with him, trying desperately to convey what I need to. “You can’t walk away from it now.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Why not?” I demand. “I mean, I know there are a lot of complications. But there are also other options. Your uncle could find a stand at a different market—”

“He’s built that one up for years—”

“Or hire another employee—why does it have to be you?”

“I’m the only employee he can afford.” Akira gives me a slight smile. “I can live at home; my parents will feed me—it just makes sense.”

“It makes no sense,” I insist. “There must be another way.”

“Kimi.” Akira scrubs a hand over his face. “Sometimes reality intrudes on what we want. That’s just the way it is. I have to do this for my family. And that means I can’t …” For a moment, it looks like his face might crumple, but he quickly schools his expression. “I can’t be a doctor right now.”

Now my heart really does feel like it’s shattering.

Akira gives my hand another squeeze and gathers his half-eaten onigiri. “I should be getting back,” he says.

“Wait.” I lace my fingers through his, refusing to let go. “Is this really it? We won’t see each other again?”

“I need to focus on Ojisan and the business,” he says. “And you …” He reaches over and brushes my hair off my face, giving me a slight smile that’s a ghost of the usual Akira. “You should have fun your last few days in Japan.”

“Akira …” My voice shakes, and my eyes fill with the tears I’ve been trying to hold back this whole time. “How can you just … not want to see me anymore? How can you be okay with that?”

In an instant, he looks like all the life’s been sucked out of him again. “I … I’m not,” he says. “But as I said before, sometimes—”

“Reality intrudes on what we want,” I finish, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Got it.”

He stands and gazes at me for a moment, looking like there’s so much he wants to say. “Good-bye, Kimi from America,” he says finally, his voice soft and wistful. He reaches down and gathers my discarded onigiri wrapper, crumpling it with his own. And then he leaves.

I bite my trembling lower lip, choking back the tears that want to pour down my cheeks. If I can just get up and get back to the train, maybe I’ll be able to hold it together until I get back to my grandparents’ place.

Stand up, Kimi.

I get to my feet, my legs wobbly.

Now … walk.

I take a step forward. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spy something furry. The stuffed tanuki. Sitting in his usual spot under the tree.

I burst into tears.