The Space Between Us
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10
Navigating Their New Relationship, Deepening Connection
They didn’t speak on the walk back to campus. Kiko’s hand was still clutched in Rin’s, holding on like a lifeline, but neither of them seemed to have words for what had just happened.
Back in their dorm room, door locked behind them, they finally let go of each other. Kiko went straight to the window, staring out at the darkening campus. Rin sat on her bed, feeling numb.
“That went badly,” Kiko finally said.
“Yeah.”
“Your mom looked like we’d physically hurt her.”
“I know.”
“My dad couldn’t even look at me.”
Rin didn’t have a response to that. Because it was true. David had barely made eye contact with either of them after the initial revelation.
“Maybe we should have waited longer,” Kiko said, still not turning around. “Given ourselves more time to be sure before we told them.”
“We are sure,” Rin said. “That wasn’t the problem.”
“Then what was?”
“The problem is exactly what we knew it would be. They see us as sisters. And nothing we say is going to change that overnight.”
Kiko finally turned, and Rin saw tears streaming down her face. “What if they never accept it? What if we just destroyed our family for nothing?”
“It’s not for nothing.” Rin stood and crossed to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “We did this because we love each other. Because hiding was killing us both. That’s not nothing.”
Kiko buried her face in Rin’s shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs. Rin held her, stroking her hair, feeling her own tears start to fall.
They stood like that for a long time, holding each other through the aftermath of the bomb they’d dropped. Eventually they migrated to Rin’s bed, curling up together fully clothed, neither wanting to let go.
“I’m scared,” Kiko whispered into the darkness.
“Me too.”
“What if they cut us off? What if David stops paying my tuition? What if your mom disowns you?”
“Then we figure it out,” Rin said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “We get jobs, we apply for more financial aid, we make it work.”
“I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your mother.”
“I already chose,” Rin said firmly. “When we decided to tell them, when we decided to be together—I chose you. That doesn’t change no matter how they react.”
“I chose you too,” Kiko said. “But I still hate that it might cost us our family.”
“Maybe it won’t. Maybe they just need time.”
“Or maybe they’ll never accept it.”
“Then we build our own family,” Rin said. “With people who love us for who we are, not who they want us to be.”
Kiko was quiet for a moment, then: “When did you become the optimistic one?”
“Since I realized that losing you would be worse than losing anything else.”
They held each other in the darkness, and despite the fear and uncertainty, Rin felt the rightness of their decision settle into her bones. They’d done the hard thing. The honest thing. Whatever came next, at least they’d done it together.
Sunday morning arrived with no word from their parents. Rin checked her phone compulsively, but there were no texts, no missed calls. Just silence.
“Maybe they’re still processing,” Kiko suggested over breakfast in the dining hall. They’d skipped their usual table with friends, sitting instead in a quiet corner where they could talk without being overheard.
“Maybe.” But Rin knew her mother. Silence meant she was hurt, retreating to think things through. It could last hours or days or weeks.
“What do we do now?” Kiko asked. “Just wait?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we give them until tonight, and if we haven’t heard anything, we reach out?”
“And say what? ‘Sorry we’re in love with each other, please don’t hate us?’”
“Something like that.”
Kiko pushed her eggs around her plate without eating them. “This sucks.”
“It really does.”
They were quiet for a while, both lost in their own worried thoughts. Then Kiko reached across the table and took Rin’s hand.
“At least we have each other,” she said. “That’s worth something, right?”
“It’s worth everything,” Rin said, and meant it.
The rest of Sunday passed in anxious limbo. They tried to study but couldn’t focus. Tried to watch a movie but neither could pay attention. Finally gave up and just lay in bed together, taking comfort in physical closeness even when words failed them.
Rin’s phone rang at seven that evening. Her mother’s name flashed on the screen.
“It’s her,” Rin said, sitting up abruptly.
“Do you want me to leave?” Kiko asked.
“No. Stay.” Rin needed her there, needed the support of her presence. She answered the call. “Mom?”
“Hi, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice was tired, strained. “Can we talk?”
“Of course. Are you still at the hotel?”
“No, we drove home this morning. But I wanted to call, to ... to tell you where I’m at with all of this.”
Rin put the phone on speaker so Kiko could hear, and took her hand.
“Okay,” Rin said. “I’m listening.”
Her mother took a breath. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m okay with this. I’m not. The idea of you and Kiko being ... together like that ... it goes against everything I thought I understood about your relationship.”
Rin felt her heart sink, but she forced herself to stay quiet, to let her mother finish.
“But,” her mother continued, “I also spent all night thinking about the two of you. About how close you’ve been, how you’ve always gravitated toward each other, how neither of you ever seemed interested in dating other people in any serious way. And I realized that maybe ... maybe the signs were there all along and I just didn’t want to see them.”
“Mom—”
“Let me finish, please.” Her mother’s voice was gentle but firm. “David and I have been talking. A lot. And we both agree that we need time to process this. To adjust our understanding of your relationship, of our family. But we also both agree that we love you. Both of you. And that doesn’t change just because this is ... difficult for us to understand.”
Tears were streaming down Rin’s face now. Beside her, Kiko was also crying silently.
“We’re not asking you to break up,” her mother said. “We’re not going to disown you or cut you off or any of the catastrophic things I’m sure you’ve been imagining. But we do need time. Space to figure out how we feel about this without you two there asking us to be okay with it.”
“How much time?” Rin asked, her voice shaky.
“I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe. We’ll still talk to you, still be in your lives. But we need to process this on our own terms.”
“I understand,” Rin said. “Thank you. For not ... for not just cutting us out.”
“You’re my daughter,” her mother said, and her voice broke. “I could never cut you out. Even when I don’t understand your choices.”
They talked for a few more minutes—logistical things, reassurances that financial support wouldn’t change, promises to check in regularly. When they finally hung up, Rin felt wrung out but also lighter than she had since yesterday.
“That was better than I expected,” Kiko said quietly.
“Yeah. Not great, but better.”
“She didn’t sound angry. Just ... hurt.”
“I know.” Rin pulled Kiko close. “But hurt we can work with. Hurt can heal. It’s going to take time, but at least she’s willing to try.”
“What about my dad? Did she say anything about how he’s doing?”
“Just that they’ve been talking. I think he’s probably in a similar place—confused, needing time, but not completely shutting us out.”
Kiko nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “So we wait. Give them space.”
“And in the meantime,” Rin said, “we focus on us. On building what we have without worrying so much about everyone else’s opinions.”
“Can we do that? After yesterday?”
“We have to,” Rin said. “Because if we let their reaction define our relationship, we’re giving them too much power over our happiness.”
The next few weeks were strange. Rin talked to her mother every few days—brief, careful conversations that skirted around the elephant in the room. Kiko’s communication with David was even more stilted, both of them struggling to find safe topics.
But slowly, gradually, things started to shift.
Three weeks after the revelation, Rin’s mother called and asked about Kiko. Not in a general “how’s your roommate” way, but specifically: “How is Kiko doing with all of this?”
“She’s okay,” Rin said carefully. “It’s been hard on her. On both of us.”
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