The waiting game was agonizing. Every day felt longer than the last. The school year continued, classes droned on, club activities provided some distraction, but the question marks hanging over our futures were a constant, low-level hum of anxiety. When would the acceptance letters arrive? What would they say? And what would they mean for us?
Sakura seemed outwardly composed, as always, but I could sense her tension. She would occasionally rub her temples, or her gaze would drift off during conversations, lost in thought about the possibilities. She rarely complained, just carried the weight of her anticipation and the immense pressure riding on those letters.
We continued to support each other. Simple gestures – holding hands during walks, sharing a quiet lunch, a comforting presence during study sessions – became even more meaningful in the face of the uncertainty. We talked about everything but the acceptance letters, trying to create pockets of normalcy and calm in the anxious waiting period.
One afternoon, Kenji asked about our plans for after graduation. We were sitting in our usual spot in the park.
"So, big plans after high school, huh?" he said, tossing a small stone. "Off to conquer the world? Or... specific universities?"
I glanced at Sakura. She gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, indicating it was okay to talk about it.
"We're waiting on university acceptance letters," I said, feeling the familiar knot in my stomach. "Sakura's applied to Todai and a few others. I've applied to some literature programs."
Kenji looked between us, sensing the unspoken tension. His usual goofy demeanor softened slightly. "Ah, yeah. The big wait. Must be nerve-wracking."
"It is," Sakura admitted softly, her gaze distant for a moment. "A lot is riding on it."
Kenji didn't push for details about Todai or the pressure. He seemed to understand, in his own way, the weight of the moment. He simply nodded. "Well, whatever happens, you guys will figure it out. You always do."
His simple, unwavering belief in us, echoing Aiko's earlier sentiment, was incredibly comforting. Our friends were our anchor in this period of uncertainty.
Aiko, during a study session later that week, brought up the topic more gently.
"Thinking about acceptance letters?" she asked quietly, offering us some tea.
"Constantly," I admitted.
Sakura smiled faintly. "It's hard not to."
Aiko sat with us for a bit, not talking about universities, but just sharing quiet company. Her presence was calming. She didn't need to say anything profound; just being there, a stable part of my world that was now also a stable part of Sakura's, helped ease the anxiety.
We talked about the club's plans for the next semester. Focusing on something concrete, something we had built together and that had a clear future (thanks to our victory), provided a welcome distraction from the nebulous uncertainty of our individual paths.
Days turned into weeks. The anticipation grew. Every time the mail arrived, my heart would pound. I knew Sakura was likely feeling the same, multiplied by the sheer weight of her expectations.
We didn't talk about the possibility of rejection, or the 'what ifs' of diverging paths, as much as we had initially. It was too raw, too close to the surface. Instead, we focused on the present, on being together, on finding strength in our connection.
Our real relationship, born from a fake plan and tempered by misunderstandings and external pressures, was now facing the silent, agonizing test of time and distance represented by those impending letters. We had chosen to be together, to build something real. Now, the future held the power to challenge that choice in ways we couldn't control.
All we could do was wait. And trust that what we had found, this unexpected love, was strong enough for whatever answers the mailman brought.