*November 17th - 9:15 AM Central Time*
Haruki's phone had been buzzing like an angry bee since 6 AM, but he'd been ignoring it in favor of watching Noa sleep in the morning light streaming through his apartment window. Three days post-Michigan, and he was still processing the fact that their presentation had apparently "set the psychology world on fire," according to Dr. Martinez's increasingly excited voicemails.
"Your phone is going to vibrate itself off the nightstand," Noa mumbled into his pillow, her voice thick with sleep and muffled by the Northwestern hoodie she'd stolen for pajamas.
"Let it. I'm conducting an important study on the optimal amount of sleep required for post-presentation recovery."
"How's your data looking?"
"Inconclusive. I think we need more trials."
Noa cracked one eye open and gave him a look that was part amusement, part exasperation. "Haruki Sakamoto, if you don't check those messages, I'm going to assume something terrible has happened and spend the rest of the morning catastrophizing."
"Fine, but only because I love your catastrophizing face. It's very cute."
"I don't have a catastrophizing face."
"You absolutely do. Your left eyebrow gets all scrunched up and you bite your bottom lip."
"That's not—" She caught herself mid-protest, realizing she was indeed biting her bottom lip. "Shut up and check your phone."
The first message was from Dr. Patel, her usually composed voice carrying barely contained excitement: "Call me immediately. Yale wants to offer you a joint postdoc position. YALE, Haruki. With full funding and research autonomy."
The second was from Dr. Martinez: "CNN wants an interview. Also, the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology wants to fast-track your publication. Also, I may have accidentally agreed to a book deal meeting on your behalf. Call me."
The third was from a number he didn't recognize: "This is Dr. Rebecca Santos from Stanford's psychology department. We'd like to discuss research collaboration opportunities and possible faculty positions. Yes, I said faculty positions. No, I'm not joking."
Noa sat up in bed, watching his expression shift from sleepy contentment to wide-eyed panic.
"Good news or bad news?" she asked.
"I honestly can't tell the difference anymore." He handed her the phone. "Listen to the messages and tell me if I'm hallucinating."
She listened to all twelve voicemails, her eyes growing progressively wider with each one. By the time she finished, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at the phone like it had just delivered news of alien contact.
"Haruki," she said slowly, "I think we broke academia."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we have interview requests from five major universities, three television networks, two publishing houses, and something called the MacArthur Foundation that I'm pretty sure gives out genius grants."
"That's..." He paused, trying to process the magnitude of what she'd just said. "That's impossible."
"That's what I thought. But apparently, when you demonstrate that love can be scientifically understood and practically improved, people pay attention."
"Also apparently, when you're young, international, and challenging established paradigms, people either want to destroy you or recruit you."
"And right now, it sounds like they want to recruit us."
Haruki's laptop chimed with an incoming email notification. Then another. Then what sounded like an entire symphony of notifications.
"I'm scared to look," he said.
"I'll look." Noa grabbed the laptop and opened his email. "Oh. Oh my."
"What?"
"You have forty-seven new emails. From universities, research institutes, media outlets, and something called 'The Today Show.'"
"THE Today Show? Like, the actual Today Show that my mother watches every morning when she's visiting America?"
"The very same. They want to do a segment on 'young love meets cutting-edge science.'"
"That sounds horrifying."
"That sounds like the kind of platform that could help our research reach millions of people who might benefit from it."
"It also sounds like the kind of platform that could turn us into relationship celebrities rather than serious researchers."
Noa set the laptop aside and looked at him seriously. "So what do we do?"
"I have absolutely no idea. Six months ago, we were worried about whether our English was good enough for graduate coursework. Now we're apparently choosing between Stanford and Yale while deciding whether to appear on national television?"
"It's surreal."
"It's terrifying."
"It's also exactly what we hoped would happen when we decided to share our research."
"Is it? Because I thought we hoped for academic recognition and the opportunity to help other couples. I didn't think we hoped for celebrity status and book deals."
Noa pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a gesture that made her look younger and more vulnerable than her usual confident academic persona.
"Can I tell you something?" she said.
"Always."
"I'm scared that all this attention is going to change us. That we'll stop being Haruki and Noa who happened to discover something important, and become 'The Couple Who Cracked the Code of Love' or whatever ridiculous headline they'll come up with."
"You think the attention will corrupt us?"
"I think the attention will make it harder to remember why we started this research in the first place. And I think it'll make it harder to maintain normal relationship dynamics when our relationship is constantly being observed and analyzed by strangers."
Haruki understood immediately. He'd been feeling the same creeping anxiety about their increasing public profile.
"So we set boundaries," he said. "We decide what opportunities align with our actual goals and decline everything else."
"Even if declining opportunities costs us career advancement?"
"Even then. What's the point of career advancement if it costs us our relationship or our integrity?"
"But how do we decide? How do we tell the difference between opportunities that serve our research goals and opportunities that just serve our egos?"
"We ask ourselves the same question we've been asking from the beginning: Will this help other couples build healthier relationships?"
"And if the answer is yes?"
"Then we seriously consider it, even if it makes us uncomfortable."
"And if the answer is no?"
"Then we decline, even if it seems like a huge opportunity."
Noa smiled, the expression carrying relief and affection in equal measure. "Have I mentioned that I love how you think?"
"Not in the last ten minutes."
"Consider it mentioned."
They spent the next hour going through the messages and emails together, categorizing opportunities based on their potential impact on relationship research versus their potential for turning them into media personalities. The process was both exciting and overwhelming—exciting because it confirmed that their research was genuinely important, overwhelming because it required them to make decisions about their futures that they felt completely unprepared for.
"Okay," Noa said, looking at their sorted lists. "Yale postdoc, Stanford collaboration, Journal publication—these all seem like legitimate academic opportunities."
"CNN interview, Today Show appearance, book deal meeting—these feel more like media opportunities that might or might not serve our research goals."
"And the MacArthur Foundation inquiry?"
"I think that falls into the 'too surreal to process right now' category."
"Fair enough. So what's our strategy?"
"We talk to our advisors about the academic opportunities, we're very selective about media appearances, and we make decisions based on what serves our research rather than what feeds our egos."
"And we remember that our relationship exists independently of our research, even when the whole world seems to think they're the same thing."
"Especially then."
Haruki's phone rang, interrupting their planning session. Professor Akizuki's name appeared on the screen, and he realized he hadn't updated her on the Michigan presentation or its aftermath.
"Professor Akizuki," he answered, putting the call on speaker so Noa could participate.
"Haruki, Noa," her voice carried warmth and what sounded like maternal pride. "I've been following the response to your Michigan presentation. It seems you've made quite an impression on American academia."
"It's been overwhelming," Noa admitted. "We're getting offers and opportunities we never expected."
"And you're wondering how to handle success without losing yourselves in the process?"
"Exactly."
"This is the challenge I warned you about. American academic culture can be intoxicating—the recognition, the opportunities, the sense that your work matters immediately and visibly. But you must remember that external validation, while gratifying, is not the measure of your worth as researchers or as people."
"How do we stay grounded when everyone wants to tell us how brilliant we are?"
"By remembering that brilliance without character is meaningless, and that your relationship's value isn't determined by its contribution to your careers."
"And the opportunities? How do we choose?"
"By choosing what serves your deepest values rather than your immediate desires. Ask yourselves: What kind of researchers do you want to become? What kind of life do you want to build together? What legacy do you want your work to leave?"
"And if we make mistakes?"
"Then you learn from them and do better next time. But don't let fear of making mistakes prevent you from taking meaningful risks."
After the call ended, both Haruki and Noa felt more centered about the decisions ahead. Professor Akizuki's perspective had reminded them that success was a tool, not a destination, and that their choices should serve their long-term goals rather than their short-term excitement.
"You know what?" Noa said, closing the laptop and settling back against the pillows. "I think we're going to be okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We've handled every challenge so far by talking through it together and making decisions based on our shared values. There's no reason to think we can't handle success the same way."
"Even if success is scarier than failure in some ways?"
"Especially then."
And as they lay there in the morning light, surrounded by evidence of their sudden academic fame, both felt confident that whatever came next, they'd face it the same way they'd faced everything else—together, thoughtfully, and with their relationship as the foundation that made everything else possible.
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*End of Chapter 13*