dear chuuya,

the evening of that charity event, you accompanied me, squeezing my hand whenever i got nervous or anxious or tried to talk my way out of going there.

“you know when it's time to chicken out and run?“, you asked me on the drive there, and in front of the hall. “that time is never, so go get 'em and do what you were born to do.“

i listened to you, darling.

sometimes, i wish i didn't, because everything went to hell after that evening.

first things first, though.

my professor introduced me to a bunch of doctors, people with countless phds and some business heads.

one of them, a blonde, wealthy american (he called you old sport all the time, that was hilarious) began a conversation with me. he was the ceo of some wall street company, married, and searched for young, talented students in whichever medical field there was, hoping to create a cure for his wife's disease.

he was a father too, chuuya. i couldn't say no, even if i had wanted to. he had a daughter, and she was only ten, way too young to lose someone. way too young to lose her mother the same way i did.

so i said yes, shook hands with him and agreed to wait a few days until the specifics of my position were more detailed.

i didn't expect him to ask me to work for him in america, when he called me at uni a week later. i didn't expect atsushi to encourage me to take the chance. i didn't expect the raw desire to just do it, to abandon my home and bound across the pacific ocean.

i didn't expect anything when i should have.