Curtis was back in New York — happy, recharged, and at peace. He felt like the luckiest man alive. He'd redeemed his spirit and found his way back to the love of his life.
The only problem now was figuring out how to make it work.He had no idea how this kind of setup functioned — a love spread across time zones and oceans — but he was willing to do whatever it takes.
When he landed, the first thing he did was call Allie to let her know he'd arrived safely. Then he texted his parents and Jonah. Jonah, of course, wouldn't stop texting.
Jonah: Dude, what's the 411?
Jonah: Texting's not gonna cut it. Told my girl I'm coming over later.
Curtis: Ok, ttyl.
That evening Jonah showed up at his apartment with pizza and beer, looking more excited than Curtis himself.
"Alright, man," Jonah said as he set the boxes down, "spill. What happened?"
Curtis shared the basic details — how he found Allie, how they reconnected, and how things between them finally felt right again. Jonah slapped him on the back, grinning wide.
"Well done, brother! I'm so damn proud of you," he said, raising his beer. "You finally learned my ways!"
Curtis laughed. "Thank you."They did their old signature handshake, grinning like kids again.
Jonah leaned back on the couch. "So… you convinced her to come back?"
Curtis hesitated, then replied, "That's not the plan."
Jonah blinked. "Wait—what? So she's staying there?"
"Yeah."
"Dude! What the hell did you get yourself into? A long-distance relationship? Man, those things never last! Why'd you agree to that?"
Curtis leaned forward, calm but firm. "Because she needs to do what she's meant to do. I love her, and I'll support her. We'll make it work."
Jonah looked at him for a long second, then shrugged. "Alright, dude. Whatever you say. I just hope it works out for you two."
Curtis didn't research how to survive long-distance relationships. He didn't look up statistics, tips, or "five ways to stay connected." He just decided to follow his heart.
He and Allie texted nonstop, as if they still lived in the same city. They scheduled a time that worked for both of them — his evening, her morning — and made it their ritual to video call every day.
They sent random photos of things that reminded them of each other: Curtis would text her pictures of Milo, of the hot dog stand they used to pass, or the nail spa she dragged him into once. Allie sent him snapshots of cherry blossoms, Tokyo streets at night, or the ramen bowls she swore were "life-changing."
Those calls became sacred — small pieces of home, untouchable by distance or time.
But when the calls ended, it was always hard. Curtis tried to convince himself they could handle it. Yet some nights were unbearable — when all he wanted was to hold her, to hear her laugh in person, to fall asleep beside her.
It tested his patience and his faith. What they had wasn't for the faint of heart. But he reminded himself that she had gone through so much — she had worked her way up from nothing, fought every battle alone. He owed it to her to understand, to give her the space she needed. If he forced her to choose, everything they built would fall apart. He loved her too much to risk that. Of course, things weren't perfect.
There were days when the timing didn't work out, when she was too tired to talk or he was too busy to pick up. There were missed calls, short texts, and nights when frustration got the best of him. Sometimes, he'd get petty and ignore her calls just to "teach her a lesson" — only to regret it hours later.
But they always made up. Neither of them could stay mad for long.
Allie often called when he was visiting his parents. She loved talking to them, especially his mom. Before long, the two had exchanged numbers and would chat even when Curtis wasn't around. His parents adored her — they said she was genuine, warm, and exactly what he needed.
"Son," his dad said once, "don't screw this one up. She's special."
Curtis could only smile. "I know, Dad. I know."One afternoon, Curtis called Allie from the senior center. The moment the video connected, the old folks lit up like it was Christmas morning.
"Allie! Look who's here!" someone shouted.
"Oh, sweetheart, we miss you!" another said.
Allie's laughter filled the room, soft and full of emotion.
Someone teased, "You know who missed you most? Curtis!"
Her eyes welled with tears, and she whispered, "I miss you all too."
Curtis's chest ached. "Hey, hey… don't cry," he said gently. "You know I can come visit you anytime, right? Just say the word."
She nodded, wiping her tears, smiling again. "I know. Thank you."
Most days, Curtis kept himself busy trading stocks and managing clients, but the loneliness always crept in. Some nights, the sound of her voice through a phone speaker wasn't enough.
Lately, her tone had changed. She sounded quieter, duller — not her usual lively self. He asked if she was okay, and she brushed it off, saying she was fine, just tired from work. But his gut told him otherwise.
He didn't wait for her to admit it. He booked a flight.
When she opened the door, she looked pale and weak, wrapped in a blanket, surprise flashing across her tired face.
"Kit… what are you doing here?" she asked faintly.
"You look awful," he muttered, stepping inside.
Allie tried to protest, but he didn't listen. He took charge — bought her medicine, made soup, took her to the clinic. For two days, he stayed by her side, making sure she ate and rested.
When her fever finally broke, she woke up to find him sitting by her bed, looking both relieved and frustrated.
"Don't ever hide things like this again," he said quietly. "You can't just disappear on me, Allie. Not when it comes to your health."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry… I didn't want to worry you."
Curtis sighed and pulled her close.
"That's not how it works, you hear me? If I'm going to love you, I need to worry about you. It comes with the deal."
She laughed weakly, tears falling, and kissed him. "Okay."
The kisses turns more intense like the answer to a long draught, they ardently embraced, he fully surrendered.
In that moment, Curtis realized — Allie could break every rule he had, and he'd still forgive her every time. She was the only one who could.
When it was time to leave, he felt heavy. He didn't want to go, not when he finally had her close again.
As the plane took off, he stared out the window, the glow of Tokyo fading beneath the clouds. His heart ached, but he smiled anyway.
He'd rather live loving her from a distance than not love her at all.
He opened his phone, her last message still on the screen:
Allie: Text me when you land. I already miss you.
He typed a quick reply.
Curtis: I already miss you too.
Then he leaned back, closing his eyes.
Love wasn't supposed to be easy — but for her, it was always worth it.