The days following Hiroshi's dinner invitation passed in a haze of conflicted emotions for Aiko. She found herself distracted during classes at the Instituto, mechanically going through the motions of advanced color theory while her mind wrestled with questions that seemed to have no clear answers.
"You've been somewhere else entirely this week," Miguel observed as they sat in the courtyard during their lunch break. "Is everything okay?"
"Hiroshi is here," Aiko said without preamble. "In Madrid. He got a social work placement and asked me on a proper date."
Miguel's eyebrows rose. "The friend from Japan who's been writing to you? And you're conflicted about this because...?"
"Because I just kissed someone who's been in a coma for two years," Aiko replied, the words sounding absurd even as she spoke them. "Because I don't know if I'm ready to move forward or if doing so would be betraying something important."
"Aiko," Miguel said gently, "you kissed someone goodbye. That's very different from kissing someone hello."
The distinction was simple but profound, and it crystallized something Aiko had been struggling to articulate. The kiss with Javier had been about closure, gratitude, and love for who he had been in her life. The possibility of dating Hiroshi was about exploring who she could become with someone new.
That evening, alone in her room at Carmen's apartment, Aiko found herself writing in her journal—something she hadn't done since arriving in Spain.
I don't understand why this feels so complicated. Hiroshi is wonderful—kind, intelligent, supportive of my goals. He's here, available, interested in building something real with me. Any rational person would be excited about the possibility.
But I keep thinking about Javier lying in that hospital bed, about the two years he's lost, about how unfair it feels to be moving on with my life while he's trapped in unconsciousness. Is it selfish to pursue happiness with someone else when the person who made that happiness possible can't participate in his own life?
And what if Javier wakes up someday? What if I'm in a relationship with Hiroshi and suddenly the person I've loved for years returns to consciousness? Would I regret not waiting? Would I hurt Hiroshi by choosing someone else?
But what if he never wakes up? Am I supposed to spend my entire life holding space for someone who might never be able to fill it?
The questions circled endlessly in her mind without resolution. The next morning, she found herself calling Isabella—the one person who might understand the complexity of her situation.
"Aiko, how are you?" Isabella's voice carried genuine warmth despite their complicated history.
"I'm struggling with something, and I hope you can help me think through it."
"Of course. What's happening?"
Aiko explained about Hiroshi's arrival and invitation, about her confusion over whether accepting would be betraying her feelings for Javier.
Isabella was quiet for a long moment before responding. "Can I tell you something about guilt that I've learned over the past two years?"
"Please."
"I spent months convinced that my impatience the day of Javier's accident somehow contributed to what happened. I tortured myself with 'what if' scenarios, refused to date anyone, put my own life on hold because moving forward felt like abandoning him."
"How did you get past that?"
"Maria finally asked me a question that changed everything. She said, 'If Javier woke up tomorrow and found out you'd spent two years refusing to live your life because of guilt about his condition, how would he feel?'"
Aiko felt something shift in her understanding. "What did you realize?"
"That Javier would be devastated to know his accident had prevented me from building a happy life. He always wanted the people he cared about to thrive, to find love, to pursue their dreams. Staying stuck in guilt wasn't honoring his memory—it was betraying everything he stood for."
"But what if he does wake up someday?"
"Then he'll wake up to find that the girl he helped has become a confident, successful woman who built a beautiful life partly because of his kindness. Isn't that a better outcome than him waking up to find you've spent years waiting in emotional suspension?"
That afternoon, Aiko found herself walking through the Retiro Park, thinking about Isabella's words and her own fears about moving forward. She stopped at the same bench where she and Miguel had discussed her search for Javier weeks earlier, watching families enjoy the Spanish sunshine while she wrestled with her internal conflict.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Hiroshi: "No pressure, but I found a restaurant I think you'd love if you decide you're interested in that dinner. Traditional Spanish cuisine with a modern twist—seemed like something you'd appreciate given your interest in cultural fusion."
The thoughtfulness of the message—his attention to her interests, his respect for her need to make the decision without pressure—reminded her of why she had developed feelings for him in the first place.
Another text followed: "Also, I want you to know that whatever you decide about dating, I'm glad we're friends. Your friendship has been important to me regardless of anything romantic."
As she read his messages, Aiko realized that her internal struggle wasn't really about choosing between Javier and Hiroshi. Javier wasn't available to choose. The real struggle was between holding onto the past and embracing the present, between the safety of loving someone who couldn't reject her and the risk of loving someone who could.
That evening, she called her host mother into the kitchen for tea and honest conversation.
"Carmen, can I ask you about something personal?"
"Of course, mi niña."
"Have you ever been in love with more than one person? Not at the same time necessarily, but in different ways?"
Carmen smiled knowingly. "I married my first husband when I was very young. He died in a workplace accident after three years of marriage. I thought I would never love anyone again."
"But you did?"
"I met Eduardo—my second husband—about two years later. For months, I refused to consider dating him because I felt it would dishonor my first husband's memory. Finally, Eduardo said something that changed my perspective."
"What did he say?"
"He said that love isn't a limited resource. Loving him wouldn't diminish what I had felt for my first husband. It would just mean I was fortunate enough to experience deep connection twice in one lifetime."
Aiko absorbed this wisdom, feeling pieces of her internal puzzle beginning to align.
"The love you feel for the boy who helped you," Carmen continued, "that will always be part of who you are. But it doesn't mean you can't love someone else differently. The heart has infinite capacity for connection."
That night, as Aiko prepared for bed, she found herself thinking about the person she had become since arriving in Spain. Stronger, more confident, clearer about her goals and values. The girl who had kissed Javier goodbye in that hospital room had been saying farewell to more than just him—she had been saying goodbye to the version of herself that lived in the past.
Maybe it was time to discover who she could become in the present, with someone who could build a future alongside her.
The internal struggle wasn't over, but for the first time since Hiroshi's invitation, Aiko felt like the answer might be closer than she had realized.
Tomorrow, she would make a decision about that dinner date. And whatever she chose, it would be based on hope rather than fear, on possibility rather than obligation.
The past would always be part of her story, but it didn't have to determine her future.