divela

When Emma, a young journalist from New York, moves to Japan for a year-long assignment, she expects culture shock, adventure, and a few challenges. What she doesn’t expect is Ren—a quiet yet captivating photographer with a past he keeps locked away. As they navigate love, language barriers, and their own personal fears, Emma must decide if she’s willing to rewrite her future for a love that transcends borders.

Love across Oceans

The train ride to Kyoto was smooth, the scenery blurring past in shades of green and gold. Emma hadn't planned on coming here so soon, but a last-minute assignment required her to write a piece on the historic city. She welcomed the opportunity. After all, Kyoto was Japan's heart—temples, shrines, cherry blossoms, and quiet streets untouched by time.

Still, she wasn't expecting to see him.

He was standing in front of a temple, camera in hand, dressed in a simple white shirt and dark jeans. The sight of him, so effortlessly part of this world, made Emma's heart stutter.

She debated slipping away unnoticed, but before she could turn, he looked up.

A flash of recognition. A slow, knowing smile.

Emma sighed, stepping forward. "Do you just appear everywhere I go?"

Ren studied her, tilting his head slightly. "You're the one in my city now."

Kyoto felt different from Tokyo. Here, time seemed to move slower. The air smelled of rain and pine, and the soft murmur of flowing water followed them as they strolled past wooden houses and narrow stone pathways.

"Are you working?" Ren asked, nodding toward the notebook in her hands.

Emma sighed. "I'm supposed to write about Kyoto's old-world charm, but I feel like a tourist trying too hard."

Ren glanced at her. "Then stop trying."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's your advice?"

He shrugged. "Experience first. Write later."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Alright, wise one. What should I experience?"

Instead of answering, he gestured for her to follow.

They walked in comfortable silence, passing by hidden shrines and little tea houses where elderly couples sat sipping matcha. Ren stopped in front of a small wooden shop with paper lanterns hanging from the entrance.

Inside, an elderly woman greeted them warmly and handed them each a yatsuhashi, a delicate Kyoto sweet made of cinnamon rice flour.

Emma took a bite—and sighed. "Okay. Maybe you were right."

She nudged him with her elbow, but inside, she felt something shift.

Maybe this wasn't just another work trip.

Maybe this wasn't just a fleeting connection.

As the sky darkened and lanterns lit up the streets, Emma felt it—the quiet pull toward something she wasn't ready to name.

A walk through Kyoto