*November 8th - 4:00 PM Central Time*
"Okay, let's try this again," Dr. Patel said, adjusting her glasses as she watched Haruki and Noa reset their presentation slides for the fourth time in an hour. "But this time, maybe don't look like you're about to throw up on the distinguished faculty of the University of Michigan."
"I don't look like I'm about to throw up," Haruki protested, then caught sight of himself in the reflection of the conference room's window. "Okay, I look a little green."
"You look like you ate bad sushi," Noa added helpfully. "Which is ironic, considering we're supposed to be the poster children for successful Japanese academic integration."
"Not helping, Noa."
"I'm being honest. Honesty is one of our relationship strengths, remember? It's literally in slide twelve."
Dr. Patel cleared her throat. "If you two are done with the comedy routine, perhaps we could focus on the fact that you're presenting to one of the most prestigious psychology departments in the country in exactly one week?"
The Northwestern psychology conference room had been transformed into a mock presentation space, complete with folding chairs arranged to simulate an academic audience and a projector that had been fighting them for the better part of the afternoon. Dr. Martinez sat in the back row, taking notes on a legal pad with the intensity of a theater critic reviewing opening night.
"From the top," Dr. Patel said. "And remember, you're not just presenting research—you're demonstrating a working partnership. Show them what successful academic collaboration looks like."
Haruki clicked to the first slide, took a deep breath, and promptly forgot everything they'd practiced.
"Um. Hi. We're... I'm Haruki, and this is Noa, and we're here to talk about... relationships? And critical periods? And how we accidentally turned our love life into a science experiment?"
Noa jumped in before he could dig the hole any deeper. "What Haruki means is that we're excited to share our findings on the critical period hypothesis in romantic attachment development, which emerged from longitudinal documentation of our own relationship formation."
"Better," Dr. Martinez called from the back. "But you're both standing like you're about to face a firing squad. This is supposed to be a conversation, not an execution."
"Easy for you to say," Noa muttered. "You're not about to dissect your relationship in front of strangers for the advancement of science."
"Actually," Dr. Patel said, "that's exactly the attitude we need to address. You're not dissecting your relationship—you're sharing insights that could help thousands of couples build stronger connections. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Haruki asked. "Because it feels like we're putting our most private moments under a microscope for public consumption."
"Which moments, specifically?"
"Well, like this one," Noa said, clicking to slide fifteen. "We documented our first major argument—the one about whether to include our families in our research decisions. We have transcripts of the entire conversation, analysis of our communication patterns, identification of the attachment behaviors that emerged."
"And that feels invasive to share?"
"It feels..." Haruki paused, searching for the right words. "It feels like we're commodifying our intimacy. Turning our genuine emotional experiences into academic content."
Dr. Martinez stood up and walked to the front of the room. "Can I tell you something? The reason your research is so compelling isn't because you're sharing intimate details. It's because you're demonstrating that healthy relationships can be studied, understood, and replicated. You're giving people hope that love isn't just random luck."
"But at what cost to our privacy?"
"That's for you to decide. But consider this—how many couples struggle with communication because they don't have models for what healthy conflict resolution looks like? How many relationships fail because people don't understand attachment patterns or critical periods for bonding?"
Noa looked at Haruki, seeing her own uncertainty reflected in his expression.
"You're saying our discomfort is worth it if it helps other people?"
"I'm saying your discomfort is understandable, but your research is genuinely groundbreaking. The Michigan replication proves that. The university invitations prove that. The fact that Dr. Voss has stopped criticizing your methodology proves that."
"Dr. Voss stopped criticizing us?"
"Haven't you been reading the academic forums? She published a response to the Michigan results that essentially acknowledged the validity of your findings. It was as close to an apology as you're likely to get from someone of her stature."
Haruki and Noa exchanged glances, both feeling a mixture of vindication and surprise.
"So we were right to push back against her criticism?"
"You were right to trust your methodology and your findings. But more importantly, you were right to support each other through professional challenges. That's actually one of your research findings, isn't it? That couples who maintain solidarity during external stress develop stronger attachment bonds?"
"It's in slide twenty-three," Noa said automatically.
"Then maybe you should trust your own research. You've proven that your relationship can handle academic pressure, media attention, and professional criticism. Why are you doubting yourselves now?"
"Because this feels bigger," Haruki said. "Michigan isn't just another presentation. It's our debut as serious researchers. If we mess this up..."
"Then you'll learn from it and do better next time. But you're not going to mess this up, because you're prepared, your research is solid, and you work well together."
Dr. Patel nodded in agreement. "Let's try a different approach. Instead of practicing your presentation, let's practice being yourselves. Noa, tell me about your relationship with Haruki. Not the research version—the real version."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what do you love about him? What drives you crazy? How do you make decisions together? Forget the academic language and just talk to me like I'm a friend who's curious about your boyfriend."
Noa looked at Haruki, who nodded encouragingly.
"I love that he makes terrible jokes when he's nervous," she said, her voice losing its formal presentation tone. "Like, genuinely awful puns that make me groan and laugh at the same time. And I love that he remembers everything—not just research details, but the fact that I like my coffee with exactly one sugar cube, or that I get homesick on rainy days."
"What drives you crazy about him?"
"He leaves dishes in the sink for exactly twenty-four hours before washing them. Not twenty-three hours, not twenty-five hours. Twenty-four hours precisely, like he's conducting some kind of cleanliness experiment."
"I am conducting a cleanliness experiment," Haruki protested. "I'm testing optimal soaking time for different types of food residue."
"See?" Noa said, grinning. "Terrible jokes and everything becomes a research project."
"Haruki, your turn. What do you love about Noa?"
"I love that she's fearless about trying new things, even when she's terrified. She'll order food she can't pronounce, take classes in subjects she knows nothing about, move to a foreign country for graduate school. And I love that she calls me out when I'm being ridiculous, but she does it in a way that makes me want to be better rather than defensive."
"And what drives you crazy?"
"She steals my hoodies. I'll buy a new sweatshirt, wear it once, and then find it in her closet three days later. She has an entire collection of my clothes that she's 'borrowed' permanently."
"They're more comfortable than my clothes," Noa said defensively. "And they smell like you."
"Which is exactly why I don't actually mind, but I pretend to be annoyed because it gives us something to banter about."
Dr. Patel smiled. "There. That's your presentation. Not the formal academic version, but the real version. That's what audiences want to see—two people who genuinely like each other, who've figured out how to navigate relationship challenges, and who can share what they've learned without losing their authenticity."
"But how do we translate that into academic language?"
"You don't. You use academic language to explain your methodology and findings, but you use your real voices to talk about your relationship. The combination is what makes your research unique."
Dr. Martinez nodded. "The Michigan audience doesn't want to see two robots presenting data. They want to see two people who've discovered something important about love and are generous enough to share it."
"Even if sharing it feels vulnerable?"
"Especially then. Vulnerability is what makes research findings feel relevant to people's actual lives."
They spent the next hour practicing a hybrid approach—academic rigor for the research presentation, authentic conversation for the relationship demonstration. By the end of the session, both Haruki and Noa felt more confident about their ability to represent their work without losing themselves in the process.
"One last thing," Dr. Patel said as they packed up their materials. "Remember that you're not just representing yourselves at Michigan. You're representing international students, Japanese academics, young researchers, couples who've chosen to study their own relationships. That's a lot of representation, but it's also a lot of support. You're not doing this alone."
As they walked back toward the El station, the November wind whipping off Lake Michigan with the promise of winter, both felt something fundamental shift in their understanding of what they were about to do.
"You know what?" Noa said, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk. "I think I'm ready to stop being scared."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. We have good research, we work well together, and we're going to help people understand how relationships actually develop. Everything else is just noise."
Haruki looked at her standing there in the fading autumn light—confident, determined, wearing his Northwestern hoodie and completely unaware of how beautiful she looked when she made up her mind about something.
"Have I mentioned lately that you're incredible?"
"Not in the last hour."
"Consider it mentioned."
And for the first time since receiving the Michigan invitation, Haruki felt genuinely excited rather than terrified about sharing their story with the world.
---
*End of Chapter 11*