As the first semester of university wore on, the initial novelty faded, and the relentless pressure intensified. Midterms arrived, bringing with them a crushing workload and a level of stress that tested our time management and our patience with each other. This period, known as the "midterm slump," felt like a significant test for our long-distance relationship.
Both Sakura and I were drowning in assignments, readings, and exam preparation. Our scheduled calls became shorter, sometimes just quick check-ins via text. Sleep became a luxury, and finding time for anything other than academics felt impossible.
"Sorry, can't call tonight," I texted Sakura late one evening. "Got a massive midterm tomorrow. Haven't finished studying."
Sakura: It's okay! Same here! Got my history midterm! Good luck tomorrow, Hiroshi! You got this! 💪
Her support was unwavering, but the sheer lack of time and energy for each other was palpable. We were physically distant, and now, the academic pressure was creating an emotional and temporal distance as well.
The temptation of proximity resurfaced during this time. My university friends, Ren and Mika, were right there. Studying together was easy. Grabbing a late-night coffee break didn't require planning or coordinating schedules miles away. There was comfort in their immediate presence, in the shared experience of the midterm hell.
"Come study with us in the library, Hiroshi," Mika would suggest. "Misery loves company!"
"Yeah, join us," Ren would add quietly. "It's less painful with others."
Studying with them was effective and provided a much-needed sense of camaraderie. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, I'd feel a pang of guilt, knowing that Sakura was miles away, likely just as stressed and alone in her studying. Could she use the same kind of immediate support? And I couldn't give it to her.
I knew Sakura was also relying on her Todai friends for support during this time. Study groups ran constantly. Collaboration was essential for navigating the intense Todai curriculum. Hearing about her long hours with her study group, about their shared struggles and small triumphs, was important for understanding her life, but it also highlighted the fact that our primary support systems during this most stressful period were separate.
The "Midterm Slump" wasn't about fighting with each other; it was about fighting for our relationship against the overwhelming demands on our time and energy. It required a deep level of trust – trust that the lack of communication wasn't about neglect, but about necessity. Trust that even when we were focusing on separate academic battles, the bond remained strong.
There were moments of quiet worry. Was the distance, combined with the stress, starting to wear us down? Was it becoming too hard to prioritize the relationship when every ounce of energy was needed for academics?
Our calls and texts became more about hurried updates on academic progress and brief words of encouragement. The deeper conversations, the sharing of emotions, were often postponed due to sheer exhaustion.
The "Midterm Slump" was a test of time – literally. It challenged our ability to prioritize the relationship when time was the most precious and scarce resource. It was a difficult period, highlighting the practical limitations of long-distance. But surviving it, knowing that the other person was fighting their own academic battle miles away and still offering support when they could, was a quiet testament to the strength of our shared commitment. The unexpected love story was learning that sometimes, the biggest test wasn't grand drama, but simply enduring the relentless pressure of everyday life, together, even when miles kept us physically apart.