*February 1st - Two weeks before Noa's defense*
The library had become Noa's second home over the past three weeks, her usual table in the corner now permanently claimed with stacks of research papers, multiple drafts of thesis chapters, and the kind of organized chaos that came with intensive academic work. Haruki found her there most evenings, surrounded by the evidence of months of careful research and analysis.
"How's the revision going?" he asked, settling into the chair beside her with two cups of coffee and a bag of the pastries she'd been surviving on.
"Slowly. Dr. Yamamoto wants me to strengthen the methodology section, and I keep second-guessing every decision I made six months ago." Noa looked up from her laptop with tired eyes. "What if my sample size was too small? What if I should have used different interview questions? What if the whole thing is fundamentally flawed?"
"What does Dr. Yamamoto actually say about the work?"
"That it's solid research with meaningful findings that will contribute to the field."
"Then trust her judgment. She's been doing this for twenty years."
"I know. It's just—" Noa rubbed her temples, a gesture that had become habitual over the past week. "This feels so much bigger than a thesis. Like I'm proving whether I'm capable of real academic work."
Haruki reached for her hand across the table. "You've already proven that. Your research on attachment patterns in therapy outcomes is genuinely innovative. Professor Akizuki said so when you presented it in class last month."
"She was just being nice."
"Professor Akizuki doesn't say things just to be nice. She said your work was 'methodologically sound and clinically relevant.' Those aren't polite compliments."
Noa managed a small smile. "You're right. I'm just nervous."
"You're allowed to be nervous. This is important."
"What if I can't answer their questions? What if the committee finds problems I didn't see?"
"Then you'll address their concerns and make the work stronger. That's what thesis defenses are for—not to tear down your research, but to help you think about it more deeply."
They worked side by side for the next two hours, Noa refining her methodology section while Haruki graded papers for Professor Akizuki's new semester class. The comfortable parallel work had become one of their relationship strengths—the ability to support each other's goals without needing constant attention or conversation.
"Can I practice my opening statement with you?" Noa asked eventually, closing her laptop and stretching.
"Of course."
She stood and moved to the front of their small study area, transforming from tired graduate student into confident researcher.
"Good afternoon. I'm here to defend my thesis on the relationship between childhood attachment patterns and therapeutic outcomes in young adult populations."
Her voice was clear and professional, and Haruki could see her confidence building as she moved through her introduction.
"This research addresses a significant gap in current literature by examining how early attachment experiences influence not just relationship behaviors, but also the effectiveness of different therapeutic interventions."
"Excellent start," Haruki said when she finished. "You sound like you know exactly what you're talking about."
"Because I do know what I'm talking about. I've been living with this research for eight months."
"Exactly. Trust that knowledge."
---
The next evening, Haruki found Noa in her room, surrounded by note cards and looking overwhelmed by the scope of everything she needed to remember for her defense.
"What if I forget something important?" she said without preamble. "What if they ask about a study I should have cited but didn't?"
"Then you'll say 'That's an excellent point that deserves consideration in future research' and move on."
"You sound like Professor Akizuki."
"I learned from the best. She gave me the same advice before my symposium presentation."
Noa flopped back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "I can't believe this is happening in two weeks. Eight months of work, and it all comes down to one hour of questions."
"It's not really one hour, though. It's eight months of careful research that you'll spend one hour discussing with people who are genuinely interested in your findings."
"When did you become so wise about academic anxiety?"
"When I fell in love with someone whose academic success matters to me as much as my own."
Noa turned to look at him. "That's either very romantic or very codependent."
"Let's go with romantic."
"I'm scared, Haruki."
"I know. But you're also ready. More ready than you realize."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've watched you work on this research. I've seen how carefully you've thought through every decision, how thoroughly you've analyzed your data, how thoughtfully you've connected your findings to existing literature."
"And?"
"And I've seen you explain your work to other people—to me, to your parents, to Professor Akizuki's class. You always sound confident and knowledgeable because you are confident and knowledgeable."
Noa was quiet for a moment, processing his words.
"Can I tell you something?" she said eventually.
"Always."
"Part of what scares me about the defense is that it feels like the end of something. Like once I finish my thesis, I'll have to figure out who I am when I'm not working on this research."
"What do you think you'll discover?"
"I don't know. For the past eight months, 'thesis student' has been such a big part of my identity. What if I don't know how to be just... me?"
Haruki moved to sit beside her on the bed. "You've been 'just you' this whole time. The thesis didn't create your curiosity about human behavior or your ability to think analytically or your desire to help people develop healthier relationships."
"Those things were already part of who you are. The thesis just gave you a way to express them academically."
"So you think I'll still be me after the defense?"
"I think you'll be you, plus someone who's proven she can complete significant independent research. That's not a loss of identity—that's growth."
---
Over the next week, they developed a routine around Noa's defense preparation. Mornings were for thesis revision and committee correspondence. Afternoons were for practice presentations with Dr. Yamamoto and other faculty members. Evenings were for processing anxiety and maintaining their relationship despite the pressure.
"I had my final practice session today," Noa announced one evening as they shared dinner in the dining hall.
"How did it go?"
"Better than expected. Dr. Yamamoto said I sounded confident and well-prepared."
"Because you are confident and well-prepared."
"She also said the committee is genuinely excited about my research. Apparently, Dr. Chen has been talking about my findings in her graduate seminars."
"That's amazing, Noa. Your work is influencing other people's teaching."
"It's surreal. Six months ago, I was just trying to finish my thesis requirements. Now people are talking about my research like it matters."
"It does matter. You've discovered something important about how attachment patterns affect therapeutic outcomes."
"I know. Intellectually, I know that. But emotionally, it still feels impossible that I did real research that contributes to the field."
"What would it take for you to believe it emotionally?"
Noa considered the question, twirling pasta around her fork while she thought.
"Maybe successfully defending it. Maybe having the committee approve my work and tell me it's genuinely valuable."
"And if they do?"
"Then I guess I'll have to accept that I'm actually good at this. That I can do meaningful academic work."
"You're already good at this. The defense is just making it official."
---
The night before her defense, they sat in Noa's room with her presentation materials spread across every surface. She'd practiced her opening statement so many times that Haruki could recite it from memory, but she insisted on running through it one more time.
"I'm as ready as I'm going to be," she said finally, closing her laptop and organizing her note cards into neat stacks.
"How are you feeling?"
"Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Proud. All at the same time."
"That sounds about right for the night before a major academic milestone."
"What if I've missed something obvious? What if there's a fundamental flaw in my methodology that I can't see?"
"Then you'll address it and learn from it. But Noa, you've had multiple faculty members review this work. If there were fundamental flaws, someone would have caught them by now."
"You're right. I'm just spiraling."
"You're allowed to spiral a little. Tomorrow is a big day."
They got ready for bed with the particular care that came before important events—Noa laying out her professional clothes, Haruki setting multiple alarms to make sure he could attend her defense.
"Thank you," Noa said as they settled into her narrow bed together.
"For what?"
"For supporting me through this whole process. For listening to me practice presentations, for bringing me food when I forgot to eat, for believing in my work even when I didn't believe in it myself."
"Thank you for letting me support you. For trusting me with your anxiety and excitement and academic dreams."
"I love you."
"I love you too. And tomorrow, you're going to defend your thesis brilliantly, and then we're going to celebrate."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Outside, February snow fell over the quiet campus, but inside Noa's small room, two people who'd learned to support each other's individual growth lay planning how to celebrate the completion of eight months of careful academic work.
Tomorrow would bring questions and evaluation and the formal recognition of Noa's research contributions. But tonight, they had this—the peace of being prepared, the excitement of approaching a significant milestone, and the particular comfort that came from facing challenges with someone who believed in your capabilities even when you doubted them yourself.
It was exactly the kind of support that made everything else possible.
---
*End of Chapter 30*