Chapter 1

1 It was March, the end of my first year in senior high school, when I found out how long I had left to live. Winter was just giving way to spring, and even the earliest cherry blossoms had barely taken their first peek at the sky. I used to get sick all the time when I was little; that was just the way I was born. My fever would shoot right up, and even on the days I was well enough to go to elementary school, I’d often end up at the nurse’s office. Then, a little while after starting junior high school, my condition started to improve. I still got a fever sometimes, but even I was surprised at how normal I felt. My body was finally mine. In my first year of senior high school, my health stayed stable, and my bouts of illness were gradually becoming a thing of the past. I was just starting to hope that I might be able to keep my health up the following year and maybe even further down the line—but then I got a call from the hospital. I’d gotten a checkup there in addition to the health checks they do at school, and they wanted to talk to me about the results. I hadn’t noticed anything wrong in particular, but I’d come down with a few colds over the winter, so I’d been worried my immune system was getting weaker. The doctor asked my parents to come with me to the hospital. Dad’s tall, and he’s the most cheerful guy you’ll ever meet—a stark contrast to me, who’s average height and something of an introvert. While we were sitting in the waiting room, he tried to lift my spirits, saying things like “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” Mom chimed in encouragingly, too. Dad’s good cheer and Mom’s kindness had gotten me through rough water countless times in the past, so I was convinced I’d find a way to get through whatever the issue here might be. I tried being optimistic, telling myself that just getting a call from the hospital wasn’t a big deal. But things weren’t so simple. “With this disease, it’s best to assume that you have one year left to live.” That was what the doctor told us in the consultation room after a complicated explanation about my test results. “Oh…” I didn’t feel even a tiny bit sad—mostly just shocked and confused. My parents were, too. They hadn’t seen this coming any more than I had. My doctor went on with a grave expression. We wouldn’t have to worry about things like medical bills, because what I had was one of the rare diseases recognized by the government as a subject of special research. It was also a rule that doctors who detected this illness were required to notify their patients as early as possible, which is why she was telling us this now. She informed us about lots of other things, like how the disease would progress and how costs would be covered by insurance, and asked my parents to set up another appointment in the near future to go over it in more detail. She also promised to do everything in her power to prolong my lifespan. Even though I was at the center of this, I felt like I was listening to a story about some stranger. My mind was completely blank from the shock, and I struggled to connect their conversation to myself. I guess I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. When I glanced at Dad, he looked dazed, and Mom was staring mutely at the floor. None of us could either comprehend or accept the reality. Once the doctor had finished her explanation, she asked me to wait outside while she spoke to my parents. After a little while, Mom and Dad came out, too. We paid the bill at reception, then walked back to the car without uttering a word. Numb silence filled the car. I don’t know how long it lasted before Dad eventually spoke. “I was thinking…why don’t we go see another doctor?” “Huh?” I blurted out in surprise. “Yes,” Mom agreed. “We need a second opinion—otherwise, we can’t be sure.” I was shy to tell them to their faces, but I really respected my parents. They’ve always cared for me, put me and my illness first, and made sure I had everything I could ever need. They’re both kind people, and even though they can sometimes be too kind, I admire them both from the bottom of my heart. But right now, even my gentle parents were refusing to accept the reality of the situation and were trying to fight back against it. After some discussion, we decided to ignore what we’d just been told and consult a specialist. It was possible there had been some kind of mistake. It could be something less serious. “All right, now that we’ve got a plan, let’s go have a treat for lunch,” Dad said as he started the car, putting on a brave face. If I were him, my voice might’ve trembled, but Dad wasn’t like that. He drove out of the hospital parking lot. Even at that point, though, I think we all knew deep down that it hadn’t been a misdiagnosis. We were just desperate to look away from the truth, at least for the time being. On another day, we went to a different hospital. After a long examination, they gave me the same diagnosis. Mom and Dad still didn’t give up. And neither did I. We went to yet another hospital. Same result. Apparently, it was a difficult disease to treat with current medical care. They said once I reached the halfway stage, I would start losing consciousness with increasing frequency, and that it would eventually end in death. Back then, when we were going around from one hospital to another for more tests, it was hard on all of us. On Dad, with his trademark high spirits, and on Mom, with her wisdom and kindness. We experienced grief, despair, and a whole range of other emotions. Each of us had a silent lake of loneliness seeping into our hearts. And the source of that lake was me—the fact that I might have a disease that gave me only one more year to live. We wept, we laughed, we screamed; there was so much going on back then. But in the midst of all that confusion, we managed to settle on a few things: We would accept the reality of the disease. We wouldn’t force ourselves to act cheerful, but we wouldn’t suppress our joy, either; we’d laugh when we wanted to laugh and cry when we wanted to cry. And we’d never lose hope. Once we agreed on that, we went back to the first hospital. We talked to the same doctor, and since she assured us that should anything happen, they would do their utmost to take care of us, we decided to cooperate with their research of the disease as well. Nearly a whole month had slipped away by that time, and spring break was just around the corner. I’d developed two new habits by then. One was writing in my “dark notebook”—a place for me to spew out my sadness and struggles and everything else I couldn’t possibly share with anyone. What I wrote in there was top secret. The other was a bit more upbeat: keeping track of all the things I wanted to do in a “bucket list notebook.” I’d seen people make lists like this in movies and books, but I’d never thought that I might write one myself. It was useful for organizing my thoughts, though, so I used it to write down everything I wanted to do, assuming that I really did have only one year left. And my plan was to put it into action, starting from spring break. For the first time in my life, I went on a solo trip. Being away from my family made me realize all over again just how important they were to me, and looking at the sights I’d gone all that way to see, I learned something new about myself: that simply looking at scenery didn’t impress me so much. I went around by myself, calmly ticking items off my list one by one at my own pace. I went to a neighboring town to eat ramen that was expensive for a high schooler; I took out my savings and bought a whole set of manga; I bought the cool sneakers I’d had my eyes on. You’d think there’s no limit to human desire, but there is. If you rule out the craziest ideas and the ones that are obviously impossible, you eventually hit a wall. There was one thing I’d written down early on, but I still hadn’t mustered up the courage to do it: Tell Tsubasa Minami how I feel By now, it was already mid-May. Spring break was over, my second year of senior high had begun, and the Golden Week holiday had whizzed by. I was never the type to have a huge number of friends, but I did have some. I distanced myself from them in the new school year, though, since I didn’t want to drag them into inevitable misery when my life ended. I didn’t make new friends, either, just kept to myself. Nevertheless, that crucial wish on my bucket list remained: Tell Tsubasa Minami how I feel. Minami and I had been in the same class in first year, which was how I’d met her. She always had a smile on her face and was bubbling with energy—to me, she was dazzling, brimming with life itself. Her entire being seemed effused with a healthy, wholesome glow. I guess I admired her partly because she had something I didn’t. Come to think of it, I’d always liked people who were the complete opposite of me—healthy and bright—ever since I was in elementary school. It wasn’t like I wanted to go out with Minami, though. That was too much to hope for. Besides, I was trying to stay away from people as much as possible. My wish had nothing to do with having a relationship with her. I just wanted to tell her how I felt—that was all. I had to avoid making it feel too formal; I didn’t want to write her a letter or ask her to come meet me somewhere. I had to tell her in a more casual, everyday setting. One day, after school, I was standing in the hallway pondering over how to go about it when Minami herself called out to me. “Hi, Tsukishima. Haven’t seen you in a while. What’re you staring at the sky for?” “Huh?” I was shocked. We hadn’t said a word to one another since we got split into different classes for second year, yet here she was, just as I was trying to figure out how to tell her how I felt. “Oh, uh… Hey. It’s been a while. No reason in particular.” “Oh yeah? Anyway, it really has been ages. How’ve you been?” she said with a smile. She was nice to everyone. Her short hair swayed a little as she tilted her head; it was a great style for her. Luckily for me, there was no one around. I hadn’t planned on it at all, but this was definitely my chance. I tried my best to keep my cool and sound as casual as possible. “Uh, pretty good. What about you?” “I guess I’m good, except for my scores on those mini exams we did. I was just staying behind after class going over stuff, but I keep getting stuck on math.” She was the kind of person who could strike up a conversation with anyone, so it wasn’t hard to keep the ball rolling. Eventually, the discussion turned to how we had ended up in different classes this year, and we filled each other in on what we’d been up to lately. Should I tell her now? What should I say exactly? I almost got cold feet, but I psyched myself up. Even if you hesitate, the world moves on. That was especially true for me, since my time was likely a lot more limited than most people’s. As I spurred myself on with these thoughts, I concentrated on what I was going to say and was so preoccupied that I’d completely lost track of the conversation. “Oh, speaking of,” Minami was saying, “I started a club for movies—” “Hey, so…,” I cut in. It was abrupt, but I wasn’t going to get a better chance than this. “Hmm?” I put on an awkward smile so I wouldn’t sound too serious. “To tell you the truth, I like you, Minami. Uh, but it’s not like I want to go out with you—more like I’m a fan… Um, like, that time in first year…” I’d mentally prepared myself for this, but I just couldn’t seem to find the words. I wish I’d been able to explain exactly what it was that attracted me to her. “What? Really?” she asked, taken aback. “Y-yeah.” “But you don’t want to go out with me? How come?” She looked genuinely curious. And no wonder—whether or not she had any feelings for me, it was a puzzling thing to hear after a confession. “Oh, well, you know… I’m happy enough just seeing you from afar.” I bumbled through an excuse since I couldn’t say anything about my illness. Minami let out a pfft, then burst out laughing. “Like watching a rare bird?” “No, not like that.” “Sorry, just kidding. I mean, it’s pretty rare to have someone tell you to your face that they like you, so I guess you caught me off guard… But I don’t know, it really made me happy. Thank you.” Minami’s smile lit up with a soft glow. I thought it had been worth mustering up my courage just to see that expression. I wanted to stay with her a bit longer, but it felt awkward standing around after what I’d told her. So instead I said, “Well, um, see you later,” and took off. “Oh, yeah. See you,” she replied, waving to me. My confession had come out of the blue, and I hadn’t been able to explain the whole of it, like how much I liked her personality. But it would have been weird to go back and tell her all over again, and I didn’t want to bother her. What I’d said wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough… 2 I still felt a twinge of regret the next morning, but I went about the school day as usual, looking out for things I wanted to do. While changing classrooms, I saw Minami walking with her good friend Hayami. Minami’s eyes met mine. She smiled and raised a hand, and I returned her greeting in surprise. “Who’s that?” Hayami asked her. “Tsukishima—we were in the same class last year.” Though I was close enough to hear them, I didn’t go over to talk. We were headed in different directions, so we just kept going. The two of them were walking down a path bathed in sunlight; I was going down a path in the shadows. I’d been looking for more things I wanted to do, but I was almost out of ideas. My only remaining wish was to be as kind to others as possible and to live peacefully until my fate caught up with me. And with the way things were, keeping my distance was the best way I knew to be kind to those around me. Still, there were some people I saw at least a little: one of them was the school nurse. My parents and I had informed the school about my illness at the beginning of this school year. We asked them not to let any of the students know, and they respected our choice. I met with her to talk over it, too, just in case something happened while I was at school. She was in her late twenties and somewhat eccentric. She said she used to be in the drama club back when she was in school. Frank but reliable, she looked out for me, and at her request, I stopped by her office at least once a week after school to chat about all sorts of stuff. “So, how are things lately? Anything new?” the nurse asked. She’d made me a cup of coffee, and it was nice to feel the warmth coming through the mug. “Nothing much. Just the usual,” I said. “Are you still trying to stay away from everyone?” “Well, yeah. Pretty much.” “Because you don’t want to make anyone sad?” “It sounds corny and cheesy when you say that out loud, so could you please give it a rest already?” I said with a wry smile. It didn’t really bother me, though, and the nurse gave a chuckle. It had already been more than a month since we’d started our weekly meetings. “Okay, then. Do you want to hear something else that’s corny and cheesy?” she asked. “As long as it’s not something else I’ve said in the past.” “‘I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for in solitude.’” I looked up at her, startled. After a moment’s hesitation, I asked, “What do you mean by that?” “It’s a line from a play I did when I was an undergrad.” “Huh. What was it about?” “A young boy who chose to cut himself off from others ends up finding love.” “Sounds dramatic.” “You think so? I thought it was a pretty ordinary, run-of-the-mill story.” I could sense that she was trying to tell me something, but I just stared at the mug in my hand. My face was reflected in the coffee. “I respect how you choose to live your life, Tsukishima, but I don’t think you have to go out of your way to avoid people.” “Okay.” “Are you listening to me?” “Sort of.” “You think I’m a pesky, preachy auntie, don’t you?” “More like a nice, preachy sister.” The nurse shot me a skeptical look, then let out a sigh. “You’re better off dishing out those sorts of compliments to a cute girl in your class instead. Don’t you have a crush on anyone?” “I dunno…” Minami’s face flashed in my head, but I’d completely given up hope of ever having a relationship with her. Maybe what I felt was less resignation than a sense of having accomplished my mission already. My feelings were settled, and nothing was going to change that. Or, at least, that was what I’d told myself. I spent that weekend alone, as usual, not having found anything to add to my bucket list. I bought a new video game and tried it out, but I stopped playing midway through, wondering whether this was what I really wanted to do. Monday came around, and I passed my time at school as I always did. It might sound silly, but I looked forward to the time in between classes when I would walk from one classroom to another; there was always a chance I might run into Minami somewhere. Just as I was thinking about her, I spotted her near the library. Hayami was with her, too, along with two other girls I didn’t know, and the four of them were discussing something with worried looks across their faces. This time, I didn’t catch Minami’s eye. I didn’t approach her, either. …When did this start? When did I become so acutely aware of her presence? This new part of me had appeared without warning. Whenever I saw Minami, something squeezed my heart tight, and I would see a glow in the air around her. Everything about her felt special to me. After school that day, I dropped by the nurse’s office; there was no set rule about which days of the week I went to see her. She made me a cup of coffee, just like she always did. Though she made it from a bag of ground coffee rather than beans, she brewed it with care, and it gave off a pleasant aroma. “So, have you found a crush yet?” she teased, handing me a cup. “Please, give me a break.” She laughed. Then her expression changed, as though she’d noticed something. “You look even more lifeless than usual. What’s up?” “You don’t have to say ‘even more than usual.’” “Sorry.” She smiled. Of course, I knew she didn’t mean any harm; she wasn’t the kind of person who would hurt someone with thoughtless comments. She never said anything just for the sake of talking, and she always cared about the feelings of the person she was speaking to. I had the same respect for her as I did for my parents. Maybe that was why I found it so easy to reveal my innermost feelings to her. “Actually…I’ve pretty much run out of things I want to do.” “You mean that list you were telling me about?” “Yeah. I managed to do the thing I thought was going to be the hardest…and now I’m wondering what else to do.” “How about falling in love?” “Uh…don’t you think that’s kinda girly?” “Being in love is one of the best ways to connect with people.” I had no idea how to respond to that. “This might sound a little selfish…,” the nurse went on. “But even if you stick to your wish, you still have time, you know. Enough time to get close to someone, and also to distance yourself from them.” I stared at her in surprise. I hadn’t thought about it like that. “It’s a bit of a backward way of going about things,” she said with a grin. “But you can decide when to end it yourself. So why not take the leap if there’s something, or someone, you want to pursue?” Minami’s dazzling presence crossed my mind. I longed to know more about her, to talk to her, to laugh with her while we looked into each other’s eyes… Embarrassed, I looked away from the nurse, focusing on the door of the office instead—but just then, it opened. Life can be really cruel sometimes. I say this from experience. But at the same time… Life can also take you by surprise in a good way. “Hi, is anyone here?” I caught my breath. By some twist of fate, it was Minami who’d come into the office. School is a mysterious place. Your crush is there, somewhere, and when you happen to catch sight of them, you feel a sweet tug at your heart. “Huh? Tsukishima?” Minami said, clearly surprised to see me. “Uh, hi,” I replied. “Oh, you’re drinking coffee? Nice. Did the nurse make it for you?” “Yeah. Something like that.” Inside, I was flustered by Minami’s sudden appearance, but I somehow managed to sound normal. The nurse turned to Minami, all gravity in her voice from our earlier conversation gone. “What is it, Minami? Did someone get hurt?” “Oh, no, everything’s fine. I just wanted to ask you if you could put this up on the notice board here,” Minami said, holding up a sheet of paper. It had a quirky advert printed on it in large letters: WANTED: AN ORDINARY MALE. Apparently, the nurse knew what it meant. “Let me guess: for your filmmaking club?” “Exactly,” Minami said. “Aoi drove away the guy who was going to play the leading role, so we’re looking for someone else.” “Aoi—you mean Hayami, your vice president? What happened? He didn’t try to do anything weird to her, did he?” the nurse asked. “Well, no… She just thought he was an insincere, immoral kind of person…” “Immoral?” “And she said his acting was over-the-top, even though he’s in the drama club.” “Whew, she doesn’t hold back, does she? But, well, I guess you’ve got to be like that if you’re serious about making films.” The conversation seemed to make perfect sense to Minami and the nurse, but I had no clue what was going on. Hayami was the girl I saw walking with Minami the other day who was in the same class as her. Hayami was a bit of a celebrity among students in our year—known for her beautiful looks and elegant, sylphlike eyes—but since she exuded a don’t-talk-to-me aura, most people didn’t talk to her. But she and Minami seemed to be close. Noticing my confusion, the nurse said, “Ah, that’s right. It didn’t exist back when they did the school club intros at the start of spring, so I guess you haven’t heard about it. Minami and her childhood friend Hayami started a filmmaking club last month. Didn’t you say you have four members so far, including the first-years? All girls, right?” “Yep, that’s right. The four of us used to make films together in junior high, too.” “Ah, I saw the one you made,” the nurse said. “All the teachers were talking about it. It won some kind of award, didn’t it? I remember the vice principal getting really excited—he thought it’d be great press for the school.” “He asked us to make a promo for the school last month.” “I heard. He was happy with how it turned out. Thanks to that, the school approved your new club without a fuss, so it was worth it in the end, right? You’re lucky they allocated club funds and a clubroom for you when you’ve only just started.” “I think so, too. It’s a big help,” Minami said. In first year, Minami hadn’t belonged to any after-school club, just like me. I had no idea she’d started one herself this year—and a club for making films, on top of that. I was impressed. “Hmm.” Minami turned to look at me. “Didn’t I tell you about the club the other day, Tsukishima?” “You did?” I mumbled. “Um, you know. That time after school, in the hallway.” “In the hallway… Ah, sorry about that. I guess I was too focused on other things and missed what you were saying.” “Well, you did look super nervous.” We both smiled weakly, recalling the scene. The nurse was watching us with an eyebrow raised, and when my eyes met hers, she flashed me a cheeky grin. She saw right through me. I don’t know if it was because she had a lot of life experience, but she was really good at noticing things like that. “So, Minami, what was it you asked about for the film club?” The nurse jumped in, her voice deliberately upbeat. “You wanted to put up a poster?” “Ah, yes, please. This is it; I thought it needed to make a strong impact, since we’re looking for the lead actor. Can I put it up here?” “Sure. By the way, what kind of guy are you looking for? Someone ‘ordinary’?” “That’s right. We want to submit our work for a summer film festival, so we’re hoping to start filming straightaway. There’s not much to it—he just needs to be a normal guy. We don’t want anyone who draws too much attention, since Aoi wouldn’t like that, and preferably not someone already in another club. He doesn’t have to have any acting experience, but ideally he’d be around five foot seven, on the paler side because it shows up well on-screen, and sincere…” As she listed off the qualities she was looking for, Minami started staring at me as though something had just dawned on her. It wasn’t just Minami; the nurse, too, was looking at me in surprise. The room fell silent. I didn’t know what to do with all the attention. “Uh, what is it? Um…why are you both staring at me…?” The nurse gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Go for it. Then, it’s settled.” There was something compelling about her grin that wouldn’t take no for an answer. 3 “So, that’s the story. Tsukishima’s joining us with the nurse’s recommendation. Let’s welcome him with a round of applause!” Only about fifteen minutes after our encounter at the nurse’s office, I was standing in the classroom allocated to the filmmaking club on the third floor of the clubrooms building. With three girls sitting in front of me, my face was fixed in a nervous smile. It was my first time seeing the headquarters of the filmmaking club. Tripods and other equipment were arranged neatly in the room, and a rack stood in one corner where smartphones and other electronics were charging. There was one desk with a laptop—presumably for editing footage—and four desks had been placed together in the center of the room, around which the three other club members were now seated. No one clapped. Hayami was eyeing me suspiciously. Something about it was extremely intimidating. One of the other club members, a smallish girl with the ribbon of a first-year student pinned to her uniform, was glancing around at everyone, startled by the news. I got the impression that she was a conscientious, good-natured kind of person. In contrast, the other first year with long hair was just watching me with what seemed like mild curiosity. Honestly, I couldn’t really tell what was going through her head. When the nurse had told me to “go for it,” I’d tried to protest, not wanting to get involved in anything too complicated. “Uh, what are you talking about?” I’d asked. “There’s no way I can star in a movie.” “It’s not a good idea to make up your mind before you even try something. Don’t you agree, Minami?” Understandably, I’d assumed that Minami wouldn’t want to make a movie with the guy who’d told her he had a crush on her just the other day. But to my surprise, she seemed to be seriously considering it. After thinking for a while, Minami said, “That might work, actually. Tsukishima has a sanitary feel about him.” “What? Wait, what do you mean ‘sanitary’? Like I’m clean and tidy?” I was totally out of my depth. “You can act like you’re the clean type, but you can’t fake being sanitary—it’s like when the way someone lives feels pure and honest. My favorite novelist, Keiko Nishikawa, says she keeps that in mind when she’s writing.” “Sorry, but I don’t really get it,” I told her. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That regular-guy confusion,” Minami said excitedly, as if it were already a done deal that I was going to be in the movie. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go to the clubroom. Can I borrow Tsukishima, Teach?” “Go right ahead,” the nurse replied. “And feel free not to return him.” “Hey, I’m not some rental DVD. Wait, are we really going?” And just like that, Minami had half pushed me to the clubroom, where I’d found myself under Hayami’s death stare like I was some shady intruder. “Hey, Tsubasa, how about we make another movie with just the four of us?” Hayami suggested, addressing Minami. “I can rewrite the script.” “Remember what we all decided on?” Minami said. “We said we’d go with a straightforward concept so we can get an award at the indie film festival. You know we need a guy for that.” “We can still make it work if you play the lead, Tsubasa—you can be the director and act at the same time. It’s not like we need a guy in it.” “So we’re switching to a story about friendship between girls? That won’t match the theme of this year’s competition, though.” Minami and Hayami were having a serious debate, but they were still forgetting about one crucial detail: I was only there because Minami had dragged me along. I hadn’t even agreed to act in their movie yet, but apparently, that didn’t matter at all to them. “Why are you so against bringing a guy in anyway?” Minami asked Hayami. “You were fine with it when you wrote the script.” “Well, I thought it might be a good idea at first, but then pretty much all the guys who volunteered were after you or Ena—not here for the movie. I’m just sick of it.” “Tsukishima isn’t like that.” “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” I wanted to jump in and clarify, even though it might have made me seem a bit ridiculous. However, before I could say that I never volunteered in the first place, Hayami turned her eyes back on me. “Hey. What’s your name again? Tsukishima?” “Uh, yeah, that’s right.” “Why are you so nervous?” “I think it’s pretty normal to be nervous when someone’s glaring at you,” I admitted honestly. Hayami frowned and let out a deep sigh. “Look. I know this might be annoying, and it’s rude of me to ask, but could you just tell me you’re not here for Tsubasa Minami?” “Um, what for?” “Just say it.” “Uh… I’m not here for Tsubasa Minami.” “Do you really mean it?” “Uh, well—” “Answer me.” “It’s true. I mean…it’s not like I have a motive or anything.” I was a bit confused by the whole situation, but it was fair to say that I had no ulterior motives. Hayami stared at me, and after a little while, a look of mild surprise crossed her face. “Huh. You’re actually…telling the truth?” I didn’t know what had convinced her, but I felt relieved. “Um, sorry. But I haven’t even agreed to be in the movie yet.” “Huh? What’s he talking about, Tsubasa?” “Uhh, sorry. I forgot to fill you in on that part. I ran into Tsukishima when I went to ask the nurse for permission to put up the poster. I explained that we were looking for an actor, and the nurse suggested I take him with me.” “So you just dragged him over here? Poor guy. You should let him go back,” Hayami said with a sigh. I remembered the nurse saying that the two of them had been friends since childhood, and I felt like I’d gotten a glimpse into their relationship: the happy-go-lucky, freewheeling Minami, who leaped into things on impulse and the reliable, levelheaded Hayami, who had to rein her in. I still wasn’t sure what I should do, though. “By the way, Tsukishima. What do you think of movies?” Minami asked. “Uh, what do you mean…?” “Like, are you interested in them?” “Well…I like watching them as much as anyone else does, but I’ve never thought about being in one myself.” Minami and I were standing side by side, our shoulders almost touching. My heart was racing, but when I averted my eyes, she placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everyone gets nervous at first.” “Uh, but—” “You’ll get used to it in no time.” “No, I—” “Once you get started, you’ll see how much fun it is. You’ll be totally hooked.” “Wait, what?” “Tsubasa, let him go. I don’t want to watch my childhood friend harass some guy,” Hayami grumbled. Both here and in the nurse’s office, something about Minami seemed different. It was as if she was even more carefree than usual—maybe even a little too free… “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but has your personality changed a little?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Huh?” Minami’s brows arched up in surprise. “Uhh, yeah, I guess you could say that. Aoi always calls me a film freak, you know. When it comes to movies, I get a bit—well, maybe quite a bit crazy.” “‘Quite a bit’? You’re a lot weirder than everyone thinks you are,” Hayami chipped in wearily, and Minami burst out laughing. I’d been in the same class as Minami last year, but this was the first time I’d ever seen her like this. It made me want to see more sides to her that I’d never known about. Joining her filmmaking club was a whole different story, though; for one thing, I could never take on the leading role in a movie. It was just not possible. I knew I’d only mess things up. Besides, if I got involved with someone, I would only end up making them sad with my eventual, likely inevitable death. Even if we weren’t especially close, it would still be tough for them to lose someone in their life. That was why I had to distance myself from everyone as much as possible. I was convinced it was the right thing to do. Unsure of what to say, I stayed silent for a little while. “Could you just think about it and get back to me?” Minami asked, handing me a bound stack of papers, which she told me was the script. Refusing it outright would have made me feel bad, so I took it. On the cover was a title: The Girl Who Dies from a Rare Disease. It was catchy in a way, and they told me that this was the movie they were planning to shoot. After that, Minami gave me her number and I gave her mine, then I was allowed to leave. I left the clubrooms building and walked home by myself, watching the veil of twilight descend over the sky. On my way to the train station, I looked up and couldn’t help but wish that my hold over my life wasn’t so tenuous. But when I stopped to think about it, I realized that even if you weren’t suffering from an incurable disease, you never knew for sure how long you would live. 4 The next morning, I was lost in thought as I walked to school. I had been thinking vaguely about death ever since the night before. Before I found out I was terminally ill, I used to assume that death was something that waited for you at the end of time. But I was wrong; we’re all being handed over to death every minute, every second of every day, even now. It doesn’t matter whether you’re sick or not. No one can tell what’s going to happen at any given moment. Still, it was true that I had a clear time limit of one year. I sat through class, all the while mulling over questions like whether it was really a good idea to hang out with people. During recess, I gazed outside from my seat by the window. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was often sick growing up, but I’d picked up a certain skill: to be an inconspicuous wallflower in the classroom, neither fitting in nor becoming too isolated. Eventually, it was time for lunch. After a moment’s thought, I picked up my bento box and headed for the roof. The flat rooftop was enclosed by a fence, but since it was still deemed dangerous, the school kept the door locked and students had to get special permission to go there. Thanks to the nurse, though, I had a secret spare key to get in. I opened the door and walked out into to the middle of the roof. All alone, I gazed up at the sky. Feeling the wind on my skin, I heard a variety of different sounds drifting up from the floors below. The muffled buzz of students all around the school reached my ears, carried on the breeze. Everyone was gathered in this one spot, living their lives alongside one another. I was the only one standing in a different place. Ever since my childhood illnesses, I’d always been like this. I’d always been alone… I heard the door open behind me and instinctively turned around. To my surprise, Minami was standing there, and she walked over to me with a sheepish smile on her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I followed you here. I thought we could eat lunch together, so I went over to your class, but then I saw you coming up to the roof… I wanted to talk to you about the movie and stuff.” I felt another sweet tug at my heart—the one person who was incredibly special to me had just appeared right in front of my eyes. Before I could respond, she’d already walked right up to me. “I didn’t expect you to just go and open the door to the rooftop,” she said. “You have a key?” “Oh, yeah. I hope you’ll keep it a secret, but the nurse gave me a spare.” “Whoa, really? Lucky! Come to think of it, it looked like you and the nurse are pretty close.” “I don’t know about that.” “That could mean all sorts of things. But I get it; she’s pretty. Everyone likes her—she has that special charm, I guess.” “You’re the only one I like, Minami,” I told her, surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. I had no idea why it was so easy to say something like that, even considering I’d already confessed to her once before. Minami looked at me round-eyed, just as surprised as I was. Then, with a soft smile, she said, “You’re a lot more passionate than you look, Tsukishima.” “Oh, uh, no, I didn’t—uh, it just slipped out… Um, so—” “Your ears are bright red. How cute,” she teased. “Stop it. You’re embarrassing me.” Her remark had made me self-conscious, and I could feel the heat spreading even farther across my face. I thought she’d laugh seeing me like this, but her reaction was a little different; she was smiling, but for some reason, she looked lonely, too. All of a sudden, a sense of stillness settled inside me. “Um…there’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said eventually. “Do you mind?” “Huh? Sure, go ahead. What is it?” “When were you struck by gentle lightning?” “Huh? What’s that?” “Gentle lightning is like…” Minami looked up at the sky, then recited what sounded like a line from a movie: “‘If you never fall in love, life has no meaning. Unless you care for someone and feel that stab of pain as sharp as death itself, there’s no point in living. You have to make an effort to fall in love. You have to open your heart to someone else. Open your heart and live—then one day, someday, you’ll be struck by gentle lightning.’” The words made a strong impression, but I’d never heard them before. “Is that a line from something?” I asked, curious. “It’s from a movie I like. A grandpa says it to his granddaughter, telling her she should learn to fall in love.” Minami smiled sadly again. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure what it’s like to love someone, either.” “Oh, does that mean…you’ve never had a crush on anyone before? Not even once?” I was taken aback. “Nope, never. Maybe it’s because I’ve been obsessed with making movies since way back in elementary school. I feel like I’m missing out on something important, though… Sometimes I actually get worried about that.” If you get close enough, you see that everyone, no matter what kind of person they are, has a complex inner self. I realized it was the same for Minami, too. Now it made a bit more sense why she wasn’t going out with anyone, even though she was popular at school. “You were that small when you started making movies, huh? Well…I don’t think that’s something you should worry about too much. Come to think of it, what’s your type—if you have one? What sort of person do you tend to like?” “Aoi shakes her head whenever I say this ’cause I sound like a total film fanatic, but if I had to pick a type, I’d say it’d be like a movie protagonist. You know, someone with a dark side who’s burdened by sadness but still fighting against something… Someone hiding a secret. You know what I mean?” I almost let out a chuckle. My backstory was nothing like that kind of character’s, but I couldn’t help but notice the similarities. “Hey, you laughed at me.” “No, I didn’t— I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear. But…those characters are so cool because the actors are good-looking.” “Looks don’t come into it. It’s how they live that I like. I don’t really pay attention to their looks anyway.” “Good-looking people always say that.” As soon as I said it, I realized it was a blunder. But Minami just teased me with a playful grin. “Hang on, are you talking about me? Well, then…was it my looks that made you fall for me?” “…Not just that.” If I only liked her for that, I wouldn’t have felt the need to share my feelings with Minami. I was attracted to her because I knew she was a kindhearted person who wouldn’t be mean to someone or treat them badly just because they were different. I hesitated for a moment, but I steeled myself to tell her everything—about the day when I was struck by gentle lightning. “Everyone… They all act like they’ve forgotten all about it, like nothing ever happened, but you remember the girl in our class who was getting bullied last year, don’t you? The one who transferred to a different school in second term?” Minami’s expression turned slightly somber. “I stayed out of the bullying, but I couldn’t help her, either,” I admitted. “I thought of saying hi to her every morning, actually. I figured that something as small as a friendly word from someone might change how she felt. But…I know it’s pathetic of me to say this, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it in front of everyone. I just said hi and smiled at her every once in a while when no one was looking. That was all I could do.” It wasn’t the entire class that had bullied her—only some of the girls. But everyone else had pretended not to see it was happening; we just ignored it in that particular way people do when someone’s clearly a target. It was awful. By standing back and letting them bully her, we were just as much to blame. But Minami was different. Even though she knew about the bullying, she had still gone over to talk to the girl. Minami would casually strike up a conversation with her, and if the girl was getting left out during class, Minami would invite her to join her own group. In the end, the girl transferred to another school during summer break. The school found out what was happening and took stricter measures on bullying, and everyone in our class put the matter behind them. Still, I knew the girl had been grateful for what Minami did. Every time Minami talked to her, this big smile would spread across her face. I didn’t go into all the details, but I told Minami that that was the first time I’d started noticing her in a special way. I was surprised at how smoothly and naturally I could tell her the truth. Her reaction was different from what I’d expected; she just stared at me, wide-eyed. “Oh, but, um…I started talking to her because of you, Tsukishima.” I was too bewildered to say anything. “I think I caught on to what was happening before you did,” she went on. “But there’s a chance the bullying will get even nastier if you just march right up to them and step in, so I didn’t know what to do… Then I saw you saying hi to her and realized, ‘Oh, right, a little thing like that could make a big difference.’” “But…it’s not like I talked to her every day, and I only did that when I thought no one was around.” “It’s tricky, trying to help in a situation like that. But you were the reason I made up my mind to go talk to her. She’s turned things around at her new school and is doing really well now, by the way. She still texts me sometimes; she told me she found a place where she belongs. I have a pic of her, too—wanna see?” Minami showed me a photo on her phone: The girl who went away was beaming with other students, probably her friends, all wearing an unfamiliar school uniform. I’d felt sorry for her, imagining how she must have felt when she left our school, and wondered how she was doing. But now she’d found a place where she could keep smiling like that. I was surprised and relieved to see her looking happy with her new friends—it couldn’t have been easy for her. “I didn’t know that. But…I’m glad to hear it,” I murmured, looking up from the screen. Our eyes met, and Minami smiled. Just then, I heard a strange, high-pitched noise. “Oops,” said Minami, putting a hand to her stomach with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, that was me. Wanna have lunch? I’m starving.” She held up her bag with her bento box. We sat on the rooftop and ate our lunch. Though there was a bit of sun, it wouldn’t bother us if we sat in the shade of the small shedlike structure that led to the stairs. We used our handkerchiefs to brush the dirt off the ground, then sat down with our backs against the wall. Each of us had a bento box in our lap, and we gratefully started eating. “Ooh, your tamagoyaki looks really good, Tsukishima.” “Oh yeah, my dad loves cooking. Wanna try a bit?” “Sure. I’ll trade you one of mine.” It felt a bit surreal to be having lunch with Minami on the rooftop. And not just that—I’d even managed to tell her the whole story about my feelings for her, instead of leaving her with my half-baked confession from the other day. I put down my chopsticks for a little while and gazed off into the distance. The invigorating blue of the sky stretched out around us. With the girl I liked sitting by my side, and no more regrets or desires to hold me back, I had a weird thought that now might be the perfect time to die. But of course, life doesn’t come to an end so easily. I was still gazing at the sky in silence when I felt Minami’s eyes on me. As I turned to her, her face broke into a smile, and she held up her hands, making a little window frame with her thumbs and forefingers. “What’s up?” I asked. “Ah…did you get an idea for your movie or something?” “How’d you guess? That melancholy look on your face just now would’ve made a great scene.” “Melancholy? I’m pretty sure I was just zoning out.” “Nope, it was better than that. What were you thinking about anyway?” “Huh? Um…that it’s a nice day.” “You’re making that up, aren’t you?” Her guess was so spot-on that I burst out laughing, and she grinned and lowered her hands. I suddenly realized I wanted to ask her something. “By the way, I never got around to asking—you’re the director, right? Of that movie.” “Oh, I didn’t tell you that? Yeah, I am. Aoi wrote the script, and I’m the director. I operate the camera, too—it’s sort of a hobby of mine.” “What got you into making movies?” “Hmm, it’s pretty simple, actually. There’s this movie I watched when I was little where the protagonist was shooting a film, and I wanted to take a shot at it. Aoi knew a lot about that stuff from back then, so she helped me out.” “Huh. That’s pretty cool.” “The hard part is finding the time. There’s so much I want to film and so many competitions I want to submit our work to. The indie film world has really been taking off lately, too. Like, just this summer—” Minami looked so excited as she talked. I could tell that she was the kind of person who would keep on making new things, and that that would never change. I felt a tiny bit jealous. Even so, I still hesitated about being part of her movie. I was scared that if a newbie like me tried to fill the leading role, I’d ruin the whole thing. “Hey, Tsukishima. Do you wanna try making movies now?” Minami asked, leaning closer to me. I didn’t think she’d noticed how I was feeling, but the question was still on point. I gave her a tight smile. “Just a little bit. But…I have zero experience.” “That’s totally okay. For the movies we make, you won’t need any.” “Are there really movies like that?” “Sure. Like, a lot. The important thing is that someone feels like the right fit for the character they’re playing, not how good they are at acting. Some directors pick an amateur for the leading role on purpose, since their acting doesn’t have any particular quirks—and those movies can win international awards, you know.” I’d glimpsed yet another facet of Minami. Her words were brimming with earnest fervor; she was clearly committed to the art of making films. She was having so much fun with it that she just couldn’t get enough. After a while, the school bell rang, so we packed up our bento boxes and left the rooftop. “I’ll be waiting for your text,” Minami said. I gave a noncommittal grin. We walked in opposite directions down the empty hallway toward our respective classrooms. “Tsukishima!” I turned around at Minami’s voice. She had called out to me from a short way off and was grinning at me. “Come join our crew, Tsukishima! Let’s make a movie together!” I gave her another evasive smile. “I’ll let you know,” I said. Minami nodded back. Afternoon classes started, and time passed uneventfully, as it always did. There was the usual hustle and bustle among my classmates during our short break, but I was in a world of my own. The stillness in which I sat alone was no different than usual, yet somehow it felt unbearably quiet. I told myself that this feeling wouldn’t last. Come tomorrow, I wouldn’t even notice the quiet. I’d go back to the calm that I’d come to expect of my life. That was what I preferred and how it should be. I’d keep looking for bucket list items that I could do on my own, and I’d check them off, silently and solemnly, until the day I died. Or, at least, that was what I used to think. Now I didn’t know what to make of myself. When I got home, I took out my bucket list notebook and added something new to the list: Try making a movie, even if I’m hopeless at it I stared hard at the words in my notebook. If I wanted to be melodramatic, I would have said it was the decision of a lifetime. I had to choose what to do, what I wanted to do, in the little time I had left. I had to choose whether I wanted to spend time with people or not. The minutes ticked by, but I still couldn’t move away from my notebook. It was the first time I’d ever stayed still like this for such a long time just to think. Before I was aware of it, the room was already bathed in the orange glow of sunset. The world kept spinning mercilessly. No matter what I did or didn’t do, time kept moving forward. Each of us must decide how to be free in our own way in this unceasing world. I made up my mind, reached for my phone, and tapped on the messaging app. “Can I be part of the movie?” Conscious of my racing heart, I stared at the message I’d typed. I sent it to Minami. Since she might not reply immediately, I opened the script she’d given me, trying to distract myself by scanning the words. But her response was surprisingly quick. “Thanks for messaging me! Of course you can. Come to the clubroom after school tomorrow. See you there, rookie!” I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like something had opened up inside of me. It had happened so slowly, but it was there. I wrote back, “You got it, Director.” I went back to reading the script, conscious of how I was choosing to spend the time I had left. I noticed that, for the first time in a long time, I was sitting in my room and smiling. 5 “It’s the third week of May now, so we’ll do our best to finish filming before July at the latest. Then we’ll finish editing before we go into summer break and submit it to the indie film festival. That’s the rough overview,” Minami concluded. The day after I’d made my decision, I headed to the filmmaking clubroom after school with butterflies in my stomach. Minami was already there to welcome me, and Hayami eyed me suspiciously. I sat down in a fifth chair they brought over for me. As the leader of the club, Minami went over the schedule. We had about one month for filming and two weeks for editing. Even to a newbie like me, it sounded pretty tight. Minami introduced me properly to Hayami, the vice president of the club who acted as the assistant director and screenwriter. Minami and Hayami had been friends since preschool, and they’d started making movies together in elementary school. “I guess you were too serious about Tsukishima to let him go, Tsubasa.” Hayami sighed wearily. “I thought he’d never say yes to playing the lead.” “Of course I was,” Minami said cheerfully. “He’s perfect for the role, and I just really wanted him to be in our movie.” “Let me ask you one more time: You’re sure you don’t want to scrap the concept and start over?” Hayami asked. “Yup. Sorry, but I’m positive about that. You said it yourself, Aoi—we should go with something that has mass appeal. We’ve all worked on this story since spring break, and we were all convinced it was going to work, so it’d be a shame to throw it away now. Besides, I want us to challenge ourselves.” The two of them discussed the film’s direction in serious tones for a while longer, but eventually, Hayami backed down. With a deep sigh, she turned to me and asked, “Tsukishima, you got any acting experience?” She had a different vibe from other students: kind of listless in a grown-up, worldly way. “Oh…um, not at all,” I answered. “You had school plays when you were little, right? What roles did you play in those?” “I was a tree.” “A tree?” “I played a sort of villager, too.” “A ‘sort of’ villager…? What does that mean?” “Um, it was something like a villager, but I don’t really remember… Maybe a townsman?” Hayami seemed to be sizing me up. Since I’d often come down with a fever back then, I’d always had a filler role so that it didn’t really make much difference whether I was there or not. I wondered if my lack of experience was too dismal even for an amateur. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re coming at this with a clean slate.” Apparently, I’d passed her test, and I let out a sigh of relief. It was only then that I noticed Minami was recording us on her phone. “Hm? Why are you filming?” I asked her. “Just thought it was a good scene. The way the tension and relief showed on your face was so natural.” “As long as you’re in our filmmaking club, Tsukishima, you better get used to this,” Hayami said. “Tsubasa’s going to point her lens at you whenever she wants, and then she’ll tell you she’s getting you used to the camera and gathering reference material for her movies.” Come to think of it, Minami was always taking photos of her friends and the scenery last year. That might’ve been for her movies, too. As these thoughts crossed my mind, the door opened. “Sorry we’re late! Homeroom dragged on.” “Sorry ’bout that.” The same first-year girls I’d seen the other day came in. When they caught sight of me, their eyes widened a little, and they greeted me with a slight bow before they took their seats. “This is Ichika,” Minami explained to me, gesturing to the shorter girl. “She’s a year below us, but like Aoi, we’ve been friends since preschool. She’s an actress for our club. And the one with the long hair and laid-back attitude is Ena. We met in junior high. She’s an actress, too.” “Uh, hi there,” I said, turning to face the pair. “I’m Makoto Tsukishima. I was in the same class with Minami last year, so that’s how I know her. I’ll be joining the club starting today. Nice to meet you.” “N-nice to meet you, too!” Ichika answered for the both of them. I guess they’re going to be in the movie as well, I thought. I wonder which one of them is playing the heroine. I noticed that one of the girls—the one called Ena—was staring at me. “Um, do I have something on my face?” I asked. “I’ve been wondering, actually—do you have a crush on Tsubasa?” Ena asked nonchalantly. The whole room froze in an instant. I should’ve known better, but I glanced over at Minami. It was almost by reflex; it wasn’t like I thought she’d told them. Startled, Minami seemed to sense something and shook her head. But it was too late: My reaction had given me away. “Ah. Sorry… I didn’t mean to put you on the spot…,” Ena said apologetically. “Tsukishima,” Hayami snapped, staring daggers at me. “If that’s what you’re here for, then get out.” “What?” “Get out. Now. Everyone, we’ll start over from scratch. I’ll rewrite the script, and—” Thankfully, Minami cut in and calmed Hayami down. By then, the damage was already done, though. Everyone in the room had noticed my feelings for Minami. “I won’t hesitate to throw you out of our club if you so much as try to make a move on any of our members. And I don’t just mean Tsubasa,” Hayami warned me. “I’ll even take it up with the school board or the police if I have to.” “Aoi, you’re overreacting,” Minami said. “Tsukishima isn’t like that. We were in the same class last year, so he just sees me as a friend. That’s all.” “Sorry for making things awkward, Aoi. I didn’t mean to,” Ena said in her easygoing drawl. “Hope you won’t be mad at me.” They would’ve found out sooner or later, so I didn’t blame Ena for asking. After that, we managed to pull ourselves together somehow and got down to business. “All right, everyone,” Minami said. “Since it’s Tsukishima’s first day, how about we start by reading through the script? We don’t have to stick to the book that much on camera, but I want him to get a feel for the storyline.” “Oh, I actually read the whole thing yesterday,” I said. Minami’s brows went up a little. “Really? Wow, way to go, Tsukishima. You’re diving right in. I’m even more glad you’re taking the role now.” I knew she was just saying that to be nice, but it still made me happy to get a compliment from Minami. It’s possible that my reaction got on Hayami’s nerves, because she decided to toss me in the deep end. “Then let’s start filming today.” “What? Already?” I looked at her in shock. “You have the story in your head, right?” Hayami pressed, picking up the script. “I have permission from the school to film anywhere in the building, including the rooftop. And besides, it’s your first time, Tsukishima; you have to get used to being in front of the camera and get a feel for the process. What—you got a problem with that?” She pinned me with a glare. I didn’t know what to say. The other three behind me were already prepping their equipment. Somehow, I had a sneaking suspicion that Hayami was one person I should never cross. Under Minami’s leadership, the club swung into action for the day. They carried out their filming equipment—which they’d bought with their own money, saved up from part-time jobs—and got ready to start filming for The Girl Who Dies from a Rare Disease on the school rooftop. Minami told me offhandedly that she would have preferred a more evocative, artistic title for the movie. However, since their main aim for this project was to appeal to the masses, they settled on a title that would grab people’s attention. Everyone obviously knew what they were doing as they went about setting up the equipment. “Well, then,” Minami said casually, “like Aoi said, it’ll be good to let you get used to the whole process, Tsukishima, so we’ll focus on filming you today.” “Okay. I’m not sure I’m up to it, though.” “Don’t worry. We’ll do a scene where you won’t really have to act. In the script, it’s on page…” I checked the page she pointed to. It turned out that Ena would be playing the role of the heroine. In the scene, the protagonist had just learned about the heroine’s terminal illness, and he was supposed to gaze up at the sky all alone. Then his friend—played by Ichika—would come and cheer him up. Apparently, Minami had picked a scene where I wouldn’t have to deliver any lines so I could get used to being in front of the camera first. The filming was more professional than I’d expected, with a setup featuring several cameras in different positions. But they weren’t those bulky cameras that I’d imagined—they were all using their smartphones. “You can get interesting new angles and shots with phones, since they’re small, and you can put them practically anywhere,” Hayami explained calmly, noticing my surprise. “Plus, the apps are useful, they’re more affordable than big cameras, and the quality’s not bad, either. Commercial film crews use them, too.” I got the impression that Hayami and Minami were pretty particular when it came their art. Since I’d read up on the basics of filmmaking beforehand, I knew that people normally made what was called a storyboard: a blueprint for the scenes. Minami and Hayami didn’t use storyboards, though. According to them, storyboarding could make them feel too bound by it and keep them from discovering anything in the process of filming. Instead, the two of them moved between the phones, exploring different perspectives to shoot from. Each phone had an app on it that enabled screen sharing, so they could check all of the angles from a single laptop. After a quick rehearsal to check everything was working, Minami called out to the crew, “All righty, then. Let’s get started. Just relax. Roll camera. Roll sound… Action!” Minami had told me not to worry about acting and to just think about something sad instead. So I stood there, gazing up at the sky, thinking sad thoughts. I was getting pretty seriously depressed by the time her voice rang out. “Cut! You’re doing great, Tsukishima.” “Uh, I was just standing here looking at the sky,” I replied sheepishly. We filmed more scenes without dialogue. Since Minami wanted to try different shots, I struck different poses, like leaning back against the small shed and gripping the fence on the edge of the rooftop, but nothing more complicated than that. In between takes, Hayami asked Minami, “What do you think about cutting all the protagonist’s lines so he’s silent throughout the whole movie?” Ena was coming up with ideas, too, even though she wasn’t in any of the scenes being filmed today. She showed the others a video she’d recorded. “I tried getting a bird’s-eye view with a selfie stick. Do you think we could use the shot somewhere?” It was invigorating to see how they put their heads together and created the movie on the spot from the ground up. The air was taut with tension, but I felt excited to step into a whole new world. There was just one problem, though… “Next up, let’s try the part where the friend cheers up the protagonist,” Minami announced. “There’s a couple of lines you have to say in this one, Tsukishima, so good luck. Just talk like you normally do—Aoi will pick up your voice, and we’ll deal with the noise from the wind later, so you don’t have to speak loudly.” First, they got the shot of Ichika as the friend coming out onto the rooftop. Then, in the next shot, she walked closer to the fence where I was, and asked if I was okay. I turned around and answered, “I-I’m, uh— I’m— Yeah.” I’d completely botched my line. I clearly had a whole lot of work to do before I could even think about acting. That night, I sat in my room, watching a movie that Minami had lent me. After I’d stumbled over my line, we tried a few retakes, but every time, I’d either mumbled or said it weirdly. In the end, they decided that I could do a voice-over. I would record the line separately, and they’d stitch it onto the scene in the editing stage. Minami assured me that voice-overs were totally standard, so it wasn’t a problem at all. But I felt so useless that I made up my mind to practice vocalization skills and learn more about acting. According to Minami, though, it was better for me not to study acting methods. She explained that their movie was on the quiet side, so they wanted to strip down any hint of acting to the bare minimum. “See, you turn into the character,” Ena said, giving me tips. “Think about how you’d react if you were that person and try to show it in a natural way—so it’s like you try not to act, if you get what I mean.” I kind of understood what she meant, but not really, so Minami lent me a movie that could serve as an example. It was a bit of an unusual film. The storyline and the characters had been set, but all the dialogue was improvised by the actors, who went with the flow and said what felt right in the moment. Most of the main characters were played by amateur actors, but the movie had still won awards internationally. In the movie, the actors coughed on-screen. Their voices were low. Sometimes they talked over each other. Still, the whole thing somehow felt very raw and real. I felt like I was right there with them, and the story had a strange power that pulled me in. The scenes were beautiful, too. Even though it was an hour-and-a-half-long movie, it felt like it passed by in a flash. After that, I watched the film that Minami’s group had made in junior high school—the one that had won an award at a competition. It was thirty minutes long, like the movie we were making now. I was blown away by Ena’s performance and magnetic presence on-screen; she seemed like a totally different person from the girl I knew. Ena was also going to play the heroine in The Girl Who Dies from a Rare Disease—and I was supposed to be the protagonist. I was worried that I had absolutely no business being in their crew. Not only did I know zilch about movies and acting, but I couldn’t even get through a single line without tripping over my tongue. Not to mention— “She’s cute.” “Whoa!” I’d had my earphones in and been too absorbed in the movie to notice Dad standing right behind me. I hadn’t even heard him come into my room, and I hit pause in a knee-jerk reaction. Dad laughed, a knowing expression across his face; he was probably making some weird assumptions about my panic. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I see your dirty video has some plot,” he teased. “No, it’s nothing like that.” “Ah, so mostly plot with a few dirty scenes, then.” “Is that any better?” “Details, details! Don’t worry about it,” he chortled. “But really, what movie are you watching?” He must’ve known it’s just a normal movie, I thought, slightly disgruntled. “Um, just something my friend made back in junior high.” “Your friend? Well, how about that…” I hadn’t told my family about joining the filmmaking club. I had a few reasons for keeping it a secret, but mainly I was too embarrassed to say that I was starring in a movie. “Anyway, did you want to tell me something?” I asked. “Oh, just came to let you know I’ve taken a bath already, so it’s all yours.” “Okay. I’ll go in in a minute. Is Mom home?” “Not yet—looks like she’ll be a bit late tonight.” Both my parents had jobs, but these days, Mom was working longer hours than Dad. Since Dad worked from home and had a flexible schedule, he took care of most of the household chores. “Don’t forget to soak up to your shoulders and count to a hundred, all right?” Dad added. “I’m not a little kid, you know.” He laughed and left my room. I quietly watched his retreating figure. Dad might not look like it now, but he used to be an investment-fund manager with a glowing track record. At least, that was what I’d heard—back then, I barely saw him around, so I didn’t really know him all that well. When I was little, my parents worked in the inner city; Dad was especially busy, constantly working day and night. However, when I was in elementary school, going in and out of hospital, he seemed to come to some sort of realization and quit his job. When my health stabilized, we moved away from the city to a town with cleaner air, and he chose a different line of work he could do from home. At our new place, Dad was always home when I got back from school. He always took good care of me, protecting me from everything—almost too much. And he was always ready to laugh wholeheartedly, as if pain and sadness didn’t exist in the world. …How’s Dad going to cope when I’m gone? The question I’d been trying to suppress crossed my mind. I tried to shake off my anxiety, and at the same time, I strengthened my resolve to do my best acting in the film—not just for my sake, but for my parents’, too. The best thing I could do to repay my parents might just be to show them that even after I’d gotten this diagnosis, I still had my own world and hadn’t given up on living. That became another reason why I wanted to leave the film behind. One day, when I’m gone, I want Mom and Dad to watch it. And then, maybe… I clicked play on Minami’s film. I want to make a good movie, I thought. I’ll try not to get in the crew’s way, at least. 6 The next Thursday after school, we shot a scene with some dialogue. Aoi gave me a new script—apparently, she’d revised it so that I would have as little to say on-screen as possible. Thanks to the articulation exercises they’d taught me, I somehow got through filming with Ichika for the day, even with several retakes. It took a huge weight off my shoulders when we were done. I managed to handle the filming on Friday, too, though I still made lots of mistakes. The problem was the shooting on Saturday. It was going to be my first time acting with Ena. The scene was set in the nurse’s office, and in it, the heroine would tell the protagonist about her terminal illness and how much time she had left. The nurse gave us permission to use her office if we did it on a Saturday, so that morning, we met up at the clubroom. We carried our equipment to the nurse’s office, said hello to the nurse, and started setting everything up. The nurse looked surprised to see me there and flashed a grin in my direction. We promised her that if any students came to see her, we’d let her know, and she left for the faculty office. “All righty, Tsukishima and Ena, could you come over here by the bed? I’ll fill you in on the plan for today,” Minami said, then walked us through what we’d be doing. I had seen Ena’s acting in their previous movie. It was definitely not just her looks that made her stand out; there was a depth to her performance that I would never have guessed from her usual self off-screen. “So, Tsukishima,” Minami said, “you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. Just imagine how you’d react if you found out that the girl you had a crush on didn’t have long left to live. Don’t exaggerate; try to make it look natural, if you can.” I nodded, feeling tense. “Ena might go off script, depending on how the scene goes, so don’t feel like you have to stick to what’s written, either. If you memorize the lines too closely, you’ll stumble when you forget them, and the dialogue ends up sounding stiff. Whatever you do, try to be authentic.” Minami had given me the same piece of advice every day we’d filmed: that I could go off script if I felt like it. For an amateur like me who barely even knew how to act, it was a big help. It still made me nervous that I never knew what was going to happen until we played out the scene, but I found myself having fun with it all the same. Hayami double-checked that everyone was in place, and we were ready to roll. “Let’s have fun with it,” Minami called out. Ena sat down on the bed, and I stood in front of her. “Right, here we go. Roll camera. Roll sound… Action!” The moment Minami announced they were filming, the air around Ena seemed to shift. “You heard, right? I’m sick,” she murmured softly. I was startled by the change in her. Before me now sat a completely different person: someone who seemed to have given up all hope and couldn’t care less what became of her. “They said I have six months left. It doesn’t even feel real… Do people’s lives really end just like that? After fifteen years living a normal life like anyone else?” Ena continued her monologue. For a moment, I was so absorbed in her performance that I forgot where I was. The person in front of me wasn’t Ena anymore, but a classmate suffering from an incurable disease with only a short time left to live who’d given up on everything… What could I say to a someone like that? Offer my sympathies? Try to console her? I tried to say something back to her, but I felt the words stick in my throat. I couldn’t figure out why. Was it because I wouldn’t have wanted to hear any attempts at consolation, in her place? “Cut!” Minami called, and I came to my senses. Everyone was watching me with concern, and it finally hit me that I hadn’t said my line. “Oh, sorry!” I blurted out. “It’s totally fine, Tsukishima. Don’t worry,” Minami assured me with a smile. “I do that all the time, too. It’s nothing to worry about,” Ena chimed in. I pulled myself together for the next take. Telling myself to focus on the filming, I timed my delivery to match up with Ena’s and said my line almost word for word from the script. But it fell flat—I could already tell before I’d finished speaking. Since I was trying too hard to follow the script, the words and my intonation came out stilted. That made me tense, and the more nervous I got, the more strained my acting became. We went through take after take after take. I was caught in a vicious cycle, my field of view narrowing around me, until Hayami suggested, “Maybe we should take a break, Tsubasa.” I’d lost count of how many times I’d done the scene. Poor Ena. I apologized to her, knowing I looked pathetic. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay,” she said with a smile. A crooked grin was all I could muster in response. Ichika was filling in as an assistant today, and she handed me a drink. I thanked her and stepped out into the hallway to get some air. This was all-new levels of pathetic, even for me. Yes, Minami had invited me to join the club, but it had been my decision to say yes, and they’d let me in. I was utterly ashamed. We had ten minutes to rest, so I headed to the covered walkway that led to the gym. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. I have to do better. Don’t mess up next time. Stop getting in everyone’s way. I closed my eyes and took a few more deep breaths, and then I heard a calm voice. “Hope you’re not beating yourself up.” Startled, I turned around to find Hayami walking in my direction. She was looking straight at me. “No one’s expecting you to be a great actor or anything, so you don’t have to be good,” she said. Her clear voice rang out over the sounds of the school: the baseball club shouting out in the distance, basketball shoes squeaking on the floor in the gym, the sound of balls bouncing. Before I knew it, Hayami was right in front of me, and we were standing face-to-face. In her own razor-sharp way, she was trying to tell me something. I summoned my courage and met her gaze. “What do you mean, I don’t have to be good?” I asked. “Exactly what it sounds like. When we got a prize for our film in junior high, a director who was on the judging panel told us that Ena’s IQ as an actor is way above everyone else. There’s only a handful of people like her out there, but you’re not one of them.” “But…I still feel like I need to give it my best. I don’t want to hold everyone back.” “Then here’s my advice: Don’t.” I was speechless. Hayami definitely wasn’t one to mince words, but I knew she was giving me advice. “You don’t have to try hard. In fact, you don’t have to try to do anything. You might think I’m stepping over the line right now, seeing as I’m just the assistant director, but I can tell you’re freaking out, Tsukishima. Your mind’s going a hundred miles an hour thinking about what you have to say, what you shouldn’t say, all that stuff. Just forget about all that and be yourself.” For some reason, my own acting started to play in my head, as if I were watching myself from the side. It wasn’t real, just a construction of my imagination, but I thought freaking out summed it up pretty well. I’d been trying too hard the whole time. I stood in a daze as her words hit home. “Aoi,” Minami called from a little ways off. Apparently, she’d been watching us talk. “What’s up, boss?” Hayami asked. “I came to make sure you weren’t bullying our lead actor,” Minami joked. “Don’t worry. You wouldn’t tell him what he needed to hear, so I’m doing it now: Don’t be artificial.” “You don’t have to say it like that.” “All right, all right. My bad.” The corner of Hayami’s lips twitched up in a wry grin. With a brief wave of her hand, she walked off, leaving us behind. “Are you okay, Tsukishima?” Minami asked with a caring smile. Her warmth was almost overwhelming, like a droplet of pure sunlight. She’d probably come to check on me. It could’ve been her role as the director that made her so attentive, but I also felt her kindness. “Yeah. I’m okay.” “Just don’t put too much pressure on yourself—we can do it over however many times we need.” “You’re right. Still…I feel like I’m starting to get it.” We chatted as we walked back to the nurse’s office. I felt refreshed, as though I’d pressed a reset button for my headspace. My body even seemed to feel more relaxed. Maybe Hayami’s advice had helped me loosen up. I apologized to Ena again for all the retakes and told her that this time, I’d try being myself. Minami gave me a smile and told me to have fun with it. “Okay, here we go,” she called out. “Roll camera. Roll sound… Action!” The next moment, Ena had already transformed into her character and was saying her lines. I knew I was standing face-to-face with a talented actress acclaimed by pros, but I just tried to be my ordinary self. What would someone who’s just been told she doesn’t have long left to live need to hear? What would be the natural thing to say in a situation like this? As these questions circled in my head, I tried to come up with something that I would say in real life. Except…there was something off about the scene unfolding in front of me. I’d been through this myself. “Uh, I…” My voice came out hoarse. That was okay; that could happen in real life. I just had to be myself, to say what I would say in this situation. “I think you should probably get mad.” Ena’s eyes widened a little in surprise. When you have to accept that you only have a short time left to live, you don’t give in to despair that easily. You can’t just let go. I knew that for a fact. “It’s easy to lose hope. Giving up won’t change anything, though. You only make the people around you and yourself miserable. So…you should get angry.” I was ignoring the flow of the script, but I kept going anyway. “You had your own dreams, your own hopes… You had things you wanted to do. You sit here and say, ‘Why me? This is messed up,’ but that doesn’t mean you should give up. You should be mad.” Ena’s face changed as I went on. It didn’t feel like an act; she was responding as her character would’ve done, with anger and fear welling up inside of her. “What do you know?” she demanded. “I can tell it’s all just an act,” I said. “What? How?” “You’re going to die. You’ve got six months left to live? How can you act so normal? Why are you pretending to give up on life? It’s not that easy to let go. You should want to take it all out on people. You should hate everyone going on with their ordinary lives. And that’s going to make you hate yourself… But even with all that…” The words I had scribbled in my dark notebook crossed my mind: I want to live longer. “You should want to live longer and keep fighting right up until the end.” The next moment, Ena got up from the bed and whacked me with the pillow in her hand. As I stared at her, startled by her sudden reaction, she threw the pillow at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. How dare you act like you know how I feel.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you get it? It’s easier just to give up.” “Easier? How is that easier?” “Because…then I don’t have to get my hopes up. I can’t let myself feel anything. I don’t want to hate anyone or get jealous. If I just keep my heart locked up, I… I—” A single teardrop drew a line down her cheek. “I don’t have to hope that maybe one day I’ll get better, and I might live longer… If I start to hope, it’ll just end up hurting.” I forgot to breathe. In front of me right now wasn’t Ena, but a girl who’d just found out she was going to die. I was face to face with my own past self. “Cut!” Minami’s voice pulled me back to reality. For a few seconds, I’d completely forgotten that we were filming a scene. “Sorry, Tsubasa. I didn’t follow the story in the script,” Ena said with a smile. She was already back to her usual self, wiping away her tears as though nothing had happened. “Sorry about the pillow, Tsukishima. I guess I hit you pretty hard.” “No, I should be the one apologizing. I went totally off script. Sorry.” I’d tried to be my usual self, but the take we did just now would have to be scrapped. It had somehow slipped my mind that my usual self was more like the dying heroine than the protagonist. Thinking I should remember that next time, I turned to the others to apologize again and found that Hayami and Ichika were staring at me in surprise. “Um, sorry. I know we don’t have all day…and it’s not like we can use any of that. Acting normally is actually pretty hard.” “Uh, that’s not it…” Hayami seemed at a loss for words for a change, so Minami took over. “I think this is good in a different way. Really good,” Minami said. Her usual smile had been replaced by something more serious. I wasn’t sure whether she was just saying that to cheer me up. “Oh, really? You really think we can use that?” I asked hopefully. “Yup. But wow, I never expected a performance like that out of you, Tsukishima. I want to go with that take, so we can tweak the scenes that come after this one.” Minami gave me a smile in spite of the slightly awkward atmosphere in the room. “Yeah, you really caught me off guard, too,” Ena chimed in with a grin. Ichika smiled along with them. The four of them put their heads together and decided to use the footage we’d just recorded. They came up with a new storyline for the next few scenes on the spot so that it would connect to the heroine’s outburst, and then we shot some more scenes according to the new plan. With lunch and breaks in between, we finished filming in the nurse’s office before sunset. We thanked the nurse and went back to our clubroom. While the rest of us were charging and putting away the equipment, Minami checked the footage we’d taken that day on the laptop and made some edits. It was only meant to be a quick round of editing, so she was done in less than half an hour. She played the footage for us so we could all see how well it flowed together. “I think you should probably get mad.” I watched myself speak. It felt weird seeing myself like this. I looked so serious, and my voice sounded higher than I thought, so I felt a bit embarrassed. I fully expected Minami to tease me and that Hayami would have something scathing to say about my improv. But instead, Minami said earnestly, “It’s…a really good scene.” The screen switched to a shot from a different angle, capturing the moment Ena hit me with the pillow. “My dialogue and acting might feel a bit clichéd,” Ena commented. If you asked me, I would’ve said her performance was gripping, but she critiqued herself with an unforgiving eye. “I think you acted like how your character really would,” Minami said calmly. “It’s definitely not too over-the-top.” “You think?” “How did you come up with those lines?” Minami asked. “I think Tsukishima pulled them out of me.” Ena and Minami were breaking down the performance, reflecting on it like true professionals. Meanwhile, Hayami was staring at the screen without saying anything. “Don’t you think we got a great scene, Aoi?” Minami asked. Hayami didn’t answer at first; her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Eventually, she said, “Well…I guess it’s pretty good.” It was hard to tell if she really meant it. 7 After that day filming in the nurse’s office, the way I looked at acting changed a little. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I was an amateur—nothing more, nothing less. With that firmly fixed in my mind, I stopped bending over backward to try to give a “good” performance; instead, I focused on responding to what was happening in the scene in an honest, sincere way. When I started doing that, I felt like I kind of got the hang of it, if only a little. But that was because the performance they wanted from me was something very ordinary that anyone could’ve done. Still, I always looked forward to our filming sessions after school. And I felt like everyone in the club was gradually starting to accept me as one of their own. One week after we began filming, I was walking alone to my next class when Ichika called out to me. “Oh! Makoto.” Ena was with her, being her usual chill self. Apparently, they were in the same class. “Hi there,” I said. “Are you heading to your next class?” “Yeah. I’ve got one of my electives. What about you two?” “We’re on our way to the science lab.” “Hey, buddy,” Ena said with a grin. She’d started calling me buddy at some point, maybe because she’d warmed up to me. At first, Ichika told her not to be rude to a second year like me, but I’d told her I didn’t mind. “Looking forward to filming after school.” A little surprised, I replied, “Yeah. Me too.” Before I joined the filmmaking club, I’d avoided talking to other people as much as possible because I didn’t want to make anybody else sad when I died in the not-too-distant future. But here I was, building new relationships and getting to know people. Now, I actually wanted to be closer to them and know more about them. I felt as though a shaft of light had pierced through the melancholy darkness I’d locked myself away in, and suddenly everything was brighter. I went to see the nurse to let her know how I’d joined the filmmaking club. It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind if not for her push that day. Honestly, I felt nothing but gratitude for her. The late-afternoon light filled the nurse’s office, and emotion filled her voice. “So, Tsukishima, you’ve found a place where you belong here at school—other than the rooftop, that is.” “It wasn’t just the rooftop,” I replied with a sheepish smile. “I felt at home in your office, too.” “This isn’t where you belong, though. It’s just a refuge. The only thing you’d find here is a cup of coffee and a nagging auntie.” “It still made me feel better—actually, I wouldn’t have felt so comfortable here if this wasn’t a place like that.” I really meant what I said. The nurse chuckled, and I laughed, too. Later in our conversation, she told me that I didn’t have to come to her office anymore—that I should nurture the space I wanted to be in. I would miss her and this place, but her advice wasn’t exactly a surprise. I nodded, gave the nurse a bow, and walked out. Eager to join in the filming, I made my way to the clubroom—the place where I wanted to be. My life started changing little by little. I was actually excited to wake up each morning. I submitted my application for the filmmaking club after my homeroom teacher said it was a requirement to join. It was official now. Club wasn’t all fun and games. Sometimes I got a scolding from Hayami: “Hey, Tsukishima, how many times do I have to tell you? This is the third time now.” Regardless, I was glad I had the chance to do something with everyone. This kind of thing would’ve been unthinkable for me back in the days when I used to tick off the items on my bucket list one by one, all by myself. And on top of everything else, I got to talk to Minami almost every day. “You look like you’ve been enjoying yourself more lately, Tsukishima,” Minami told me one day when we were in the clubroom after a filming session. I’d stayed behind to help pack up, and Minami was editing the footage by herself. “Oh. You think so?” I said. “Yeah. You used to be more…I don’t know. You were a bit aloof back in first year, like you’d taken a step back from everything.” I stopped what I was doing. When I looked up, our eyes met. Back then, I’d been dragged down by my past, worried that I’d turn back into the sickly person I used to be. Perhaps because of that, I’d distanced myself from everything going on around me—just like Minami said. But when I looked back now, I didn’t really get what I’d been so afraid of. There’d been nothing wrong with my body. I wished I’d had the courage to join in with everyone else, to dive right in without being scared. Back then, before I’d had this shadow of fear looming over me, I could’ve gotten to know people without worrying about the consequences… “I just didn’t know how to talk to people, that’s all,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh, looking away. Minami seemed surprised by my reaction. My feelings for her hadn’t changed, but I was also perfectly happy with our friendship now. You could even say it was too good to be true. I had an excuse to be close to my crush on a daily basis. Every single day, I felt alive. I was living life to the fullest, always conscious of my illness, Minami’s presence, and my newfound love of filmmaking. Time flies when you’re having fun. Three weeks had passed since we’d started filming, and that Friday was the last day of filming on the school grounds—though I wished it would never end. We were planning to film outside the following week. Our monthlong shoot was almost drawing to a close. Since our schedule was tight, we had been shooting scenes every day except Sunday. However, for our third week, Hayami announced that we’d be taking a break the following day, on Saturday. The news came after we’d finished putting things away in the clubroom, and Ena and Ichika got excited and immediately started planning an outing for the weekend. Eventually, Ena, Ichika, and Hayami went home, leaving me and Minami alone together. She was doing more editing work, and I was double-checking to make sure all the equipment was charging. I wondered what I’d do on Saturday. I had an appointment at the hospital in the morning, but nothing in the afternoon. Just as I was thinking about this, Minami spoke up as though she’d just remembered something. “Hey, Tsukishima.” “Yeah?” “Are you free tomorrow?” “Um, I’ll be free in the afternoon—from around eleven, actually.” I tensed up a little bit; Minami was in the middle of editing, so I was worried that she’d found some sort of problem with my acting and was going to have to reshoot a scene. But what she said next came totally out of left field. “Good. Wanna go on a date?” “Uh, sure. I can do th— Wait…what?” 8 On Saturday morning, I went to the hospital with my parents for a checkup. Dad suggested rounding off the outing with a nice lunch somewhere, but I had to tell them I had other plans. I’d promised Minami that I would meet her at noon at a park near a busy shopping arcade. Not wanting to be late, I hurried to our meeting place and ended up arriving ten minutes early. It was my first time meeting up with a girl outside school, so I’d wanted to get there before her, but Minami was already there, sitting on a bench. I’d been floored when Minami had invited me out the day before. But as it turned out, it wasn’t a real date she had in mind; she had her own plans. “You must be tired from filming every day. Plus, I want to do some research,” she’d said. “Research…?” “Yep. We’re gonna shoot a date scene in the park next week. I want to learn about dating and romance both for the film and for myself, so how about we go on a practice run before your big scene with the heroine?” In other words, this “pretend-date” was study material for the film we were making, as well as for Minami herself, who was worried that she didn’t understand anything about romance. I was still happy to hang out with her, though, no matter what the reason was. “Oh, you’re filming, Minami?” I asked, smiling. She’d had her phone camera pointed at me as I walked into the park. Minami had told me beforehand that she wanted to capture some scenes on our date, and she smiled as she stood up. “Hey, Tsukishima. Can you ask me, ‘Were you waiting long?’” “Huh? Oh, sure. Um… Were you waiting long?” “Don’t worry. I just got here.” “I saw you waiting, though. You were sitting here already when I came.” “But it’s like the typical thing to say, isn’t it? On a date.” She was wearing a casual, sporty outfit that really suited her. I realized it was the first time I’d seen her in her own clothes instead of a school uniform. She could have been a model in a magazine, or one of those people who post their glamorous lifestyles on social media. I would’ve taken her for an actress, not a director. Minami put down her camera and filled me in on her plan. “So, I was thinking we’d start with lunch at this place I’ve been meaning to check out, then walk around the city for a bit, and end up back here at the park. Could we have a quick meeting about next week’s shoot after that?” “Sure. Sounds good to me.” “Great, let’s get going, then.” She casually slipped her hand into mine. “M-Minami, what’re you—?” “Huh? Don’t couples hold hands on a date?” “Uh, isn’t that normally later on, when they’re actually going out?” “I did some research, just in case, and apparently it’s not unusual to hold hands on a first date.” I was the only one getting flustered; Minami didn’t seem to feel anything in particular. That was proof enough that she didn’t have any romantic feelings toward me, but I was nervous anyway. “I’m guessing this is a first for you, Tsukishima.” “Well, yeah… Not for you?” “I must’ve held hands with someone in preschool.” “I don’t think that counts, usually.” We were still holding hands as we chatted. I felt hot with nerves and hoped my hand wasn’t sweating too much. “Um, Minami, I’m not sure if we should—” I tried to come up with some sort of excuse, but she just smiled at me. “C’mon. Let’s go, Tsukishima.” “Uh, hang on—” And so, Minami pulled me along by the hand, and we melted into the bustle of the city streets. Our first stop was a trendy burger joint that Minami had had her eyes on for some time. We got in before the place got crowded and each ordered their specialty burger. At some point, I forgot about being nervous and started looking forward to the meal, since I didn’t know what to expect. When the burgers came out, they were humongous—the buns, patties, and veggies were all stacked up like a tower. Minami wanted to see me bite into it, so I rose to the challenge. But as soon as I sank my teeth into the bun, I couldn’t move; the filling would’ve all come tumbling out if I did. Minami was surprised by my struggle but laughing gleefully all the same. After lunch, we wandered around town. A refreshing breeze swept through the streets, putting a spring in everyone’s step. Minami suggested we check out some shops selling stationery and whatnot, so I let her guide me by the hand. At one place, I found a flashy pair of sunglasses for a dress-up party. I couldn’t help myself and put them on. Minami put on a weirder pair with a nose and bushy mustache hanging from them, which made me burst out laughing. Minami was full of surprises, and I was never bored with her around. Brimming with curiosity and life, she enjoyed herself without worrying about what anyone else thought of her, as though she was always conscious of the fact that she only got one shot at life. She filmed parts of our date—being mindful not to disturb the people around us or the shops—and I did the same, filming her with my phone. Minami simply opened her arms to life. Maybe that kind of open-minded innocence was the most important quality you could have in life: to take things as they come and still find pleasure in the world around you. Once we’d explored enough of the streets, we bought something to drink and came back to the same park we’d met up in to take a break. We sat on a bench side by side. “You know, I think you’re kinda like my dad,” I said. The words seemed to come out of me on their own. “Oh, I am? How so?” she asked eagerly. For a moment, I thought it might not have been the most tactful thing to say to the girl I liked, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. “Um, well… You’re always so innocent and full of life.” “That sounds more like a little kid.” “Oh, I meant it in a good way.” “I know. So your dad’s like that, too, huh? Kinda makes me wanna meet him.” Sitting on the bench, we talked about our families. I found out that Minami had a brother who was a lot older than her and had an office job. “What about you, Tsukishima? Are you an only child?” “Yeah.” “I had a feeling you might be. It kinda seems like your parents raised you with a lot of TLC.” “Yeah, I guess. When I was little, I got sick all the time, so I worried them a lot. And—” I stopped myself just before something I didn’t mean to say slipped out. It wasn’t just when I was little—I was still making my parents worry now. Though they never let it show in front of me, I knew they must be in pain, knowing their son would die from an illness before them… There was no way around their suffering. As I was sinking deeper into my thoughts, I heard a familiar blip from Minami’s phone. I looked around to find her taking a video of me. “What’s up?” I asked. “Oh, I just thought it was a good shot and started recording without really thinking about it.” “Really? Well, the park looks nice, at least.” “…Sometimes you go somewhere else, don’t you, Tsukishima?” “Huh?” “One moment you’re here; the next you’re gone. It’s like…when you disappear like that, it reminds me that people aren’t so simple. We come in all kinds, and every one of us is carrying their own load, in their own way.” Maybe I disappeared from the face of the earth when I thought about death, leaving only my shadow behind—and Minami had been watching that shadow. I stayed quiet, wondering what to say in reply. “By the way,” she went on, “what you said in that scene in the nurse’s office—it was really powerful. How’d you come up with that?” It had been a while since we shot that scene, but I still felt a bit embarrassed when I remembered my improv lines. I thought about how to explain it to her without giving away too much. “I knew you and Hayami wanted the acting and dialogue to be really natural, so I tried to be myself, just as I am…and that’s what came out.” “So, from your perspective, it didn’t make sense for her to give up hope so soon after she found out she’d die?” Even though I knew Minami was just asking me what I thought about the scenario, my heart skipped a beat. “Not that it ‘didn’t make sense,’ exactly… Though, I guess I felt there was something more to it—something more real than what was in the script. It’s surprisingly easy to let go of hope, but then there’s nowhere else to go,” I said, thinking back to my past self. Minami looked somewhat taken aback. “Have you ever felt that hopeless about something?” she asked. I quickly looked at her. “You mean like my fashion sense?” I said with a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t a great joke, but Minami went along with it anyway and laughed with me. After that, we had a quick meeting about next week’s shoot. We already had permission to film in this park. The others had scouted out the location beforehand, but in order to make things run as smoothly as possible on the day, Minami asked me to stand in different spots, checking the angles of the shots and things like that. Once we got through everything we needed to, we headed to a video game arcade nearby. This time, it had nothing to do with the movie; Minami was genuinely curious about going there together as part of her research into dating. We had fun playing a claw machine and two-player games and took videos of each other while we were at it. We left the arcade at around sunset and walked to the train station, the deep red sky stretching over us. We could’ve said good-bye then, but Minami wanted to capture the scenery against the setting sun, so we kept walking to the next station over. When she’d gotten enough shots of the scenery, Minami turned her camera back onto me. I thought it would be a lot more worthwhile to film her instead, though—she looked like she’d stepped right out of a movie—so I took some video of her, promising to give her the data later. We followed the railroad tracks, and before long, our conversation drifted back to the movie we were filming. “You know, Tsukishima, your character was supposed to be a really ordinary guy—the sort of guy you’d find anywhere,” said Minami, looking at me. “But after that scene in the nurse’s office, he turned into someone who looks like any other ordinary guy, but who’s hiding something deep inside of him.” That’s probably because I am like that, I thought. I was a run-of-the-mill guy through and through—except for my terminal illness. “We could keep going with the script as it is now, but personally, I want to take your performance from that scene and make it part of the story somehow. We can’t really make any big changes, but I’ve been thinking about how we could do something like that… You have any ideas, Tsukishima?” Since I’d never collaborated on a creative project before, I didn’t have anything worth calling an idea. Still, I wanted to contribute, so I stopped filming and pondered her question. One idea hit me. I almost blurted it out but hesitated and closed my mouth again. Minami had seen it, though. “What is it? Just tell me—it can be anything,” she pressed. I was still unsure whether I should say it, but eventually, I gave in. “Okay. How about this? The movie is about a heroine who dies from a rare disease, but what if the protagonist is sick, too? And…what if he’s hiding it from everyone?” Though it might’ve sounded far-fetched, it was my reality. I’d offered it up to Minami in the hopes that she might find it even a little bit useful. Minami stopped in her tracks. I stopped alongside her. “Could you tell me more?” she asked. “Oh, okay… Let’s say the protagonist also doesn’t have much longer to live, though he’s keeping it a secret. And that’s why he can understand the heroine’s pain and what she’s going through. So when she tells him about her illness in the nurse’s office, he tells her exactly how he feels, which makes the heroine open up about her own feelings. Something like that.” I was scared that Minami might detect the truth behind my words—that I was in that exact same situation—but I figured she wouldn’t connect the dots. Minami listened to what I had to say and stayed silent for a while, deep in thought. Then she let out a soft laugh. “You might be onto something.” “Really?” “Yeah. The title would make the audience think it’s just the heroine who’s dying, but the protagonist is actually sick, too. And he keeps it a secret right up until the very end. Because…he doesn’t want the people around him to be sad?” “Maybe.” I thought about it not as the protagonist, but as myself. “No, I’m sure that must be why.” Minami started mulling over what kind of scenes we could add to the movie if we made that change to the plot and how we could tug at the heartstrings of the audience. We had to keep any additional scenes to a minimum, and I became her sounding board while also making some suggestions of my own. We walked to the next station, building up the script all the while. We still weren’t ready when we got there, so we kept right on walking to yet another station. It was twilight by then, and stars were starting to glimmer in the sky. Eventually, we managed to put all our thoughts into words. Since we lived in opposite directions, we parted at the station. I got on my train, sat down, and was gazing out the window when I got a text from Minami: “Thanks for today. I’m going to do more thinking about the script and how to direct it for the movie.” Her sincere message made me smile. We texted back and forth, going over the ideas we’d shared with each other on our walk, and we came to the question of how to tell the other club members about this change in the story. “What do you think about keeping this a secret from everyone?” Minami asked. “Shooting and editing the extra scenes won’t be too much work, so I’m thinking we could make two versions of the movie without anyone knowing. Then, when we’re finished, we show both and ask which one they prefer.” Apparently, Minami wanted to take everyone by surprise. But that wasn’t the only reason she had this idea; she figured that if the others could compare the two versions without any preconceptions, they could judge them based purely on their merits. I told her I had no objections. Now I was even more excited than before to see the finished film. 9 The following week, we started filming after school again. It was my first time doing it outside the school premises. We had to do some reshoots because of my slipups, of course, but we still got the shots we needed on schedule. I wished it could go on forever, but we were quickly approaching the end. On Saturday, the last day of filming, we shot the climactic scene at a hospital. Hayami’s mom was a nurse, so we got special permission from the hospital to use an empty room. The filming mostly revolved around the heroine. I was surprised that the hospital we used was the same one that I regularly went to, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on the coincidence. Ena performed all her scenes without a single retake, and while Ichika and I had some nerves, we both also managed to get through all our scenes before the time was up. For everyone else, it was a wrap; Minami and I still had work to do. While the others were off having lunch, we shot the extra scenes in secret. We’d rehearsed the scenes countless times beforehand, and I didn’t have any lines, so one take was enough for each. Minami suggested we also get an establishing shot of the protagonist standing outside and looking up at the hospital, which was going to be necessary for the flow of the story. We captured all the additional footage without getting caught by the others, and we gave each other a high five. Just as Minami had planned in the beginning, we wrapped up the filming just before July. By then, our end-of-term exams were coming up at school. Summer vacation would be just around the corner once they were over, but the filmmaking club was under more pressure than ever, with the deadline for the indie film competition drawing closer. Minami and Hayami were up to their necks in editing work, and the rest of us helped as much as we could. I never saw either of them study for the end-of-term exams, but when the test results came out and I asked how they’d ranked, Hayami’s scores were better than mine. Though Minami had told me she’d done badly in math, she still managed to steer clear of a failing grade. As for me, my scores were pretty average. More importantly, my health was perfectly stable—so much so that I almost could’ve believed my terminal illness wasn’t real. It had been the beginning of March when the doctor had first told me that I had one year left; four months had passed since then. Luckily, I hadn’t had any noticeable symptoms so far, but they would start to appear when the disease progressed to the intermediate stage. Sometimes I got scared thinking about that, but I went about my life as usual. Each day glided by, quietly but unremittingly advancing toward summer. Minami was working on the edits for the alternative version of the film at her house, and I took some of the audio equipment home to record voice-over that she needed for the extra scenes. The two movies—the original version and the alternative version—were both steadily nearing completion just in time for the beginning of summer break. The team told me that they usually had a party and a preview screening whenever they finished a movie, so Ena checked with her parents and got permission for us to celebrate in her room. On the day of the preview, I stood rooted to the spot in front of Ena’s house. I was stunned—some might even say overwhelmed—by how modern and fancy it was. I’d never set foot in a house like that before. I managed to find the doorbell, and Ena let me in. Ena told me that her family was out for the day and that the rest of the club members were already there, whipping up some food for the party in the kitchen. She led me through her expansive house to a room on the second floor—a luxurious suite that combined two rooms into one, which turned out to be Ena’s. Soon, the others finished cooking and came up to Ena’s room. “Hey, Tsukishima, you made it,” Minami said cheerfully. “Feels weird to see you here,” Hayami joked. “Hi, Makoto,” Ichika said. It was time for the preview to begin. Apparently, it was customary to have a short speech from the director before the show, so everyone prompted Minami to stand up and say a few words. “Well, this is the first film we’ve made with the five of us, so I hope you all enjoy it. Oh, just make sure you don’t die of laughter… Get it, ’cause it’s about death?” “Come on, Tsubasa, let’s watch it already,” Hayami said. Ena turned off the lights, and Minami sat back down on the sofa between me and Hayami. Minami clicked on the laptop, which was connected to the projector, and the movie started to play. Our faces were all illuminated by the light from the projector. I could feel Minami looking at me, and she grinned when my eyes met hers; she was clearly getting a kick out of this. Meanwhile, I was a bundle of nerves. Not only was it my first time seeing the movie all the way through, but Minami was starting with the alternative version—the one she and I had made in secret. The opening scene of the film was already different from the original script. It showed the protagonist coming out of the hospital and looking back at the building. “Uh…Tsubasa, what’s this?” Hayami asked with surprise. “No talking during the movie,” Minami playfully scolded, and Hayami watched silently after that. Conscious of my racing heart, I kept my eyes glued to the screen. Despite its plain title, The Girl Who Dies from a Rare Disease was bursting with emotion. The high schooler protagonist goes about his ordinary life and meets the heroine, who’s in a different class. She seems calm and mature but also sullen and has trouble getting on with those around her. The protagonist gets to know her through their mutual friend, Ichika’s character, but the heroine keeps herself inside her shell and won’t open up to anyone. One day, the heroine collapses in front of the protagonist. He carries her to the nurse’s office, where he hears about the heroine’s incurable disease as she lies there unconscious. When she wakes up and realizes he knows the truth, she acts like it’s no big deal, but the talk takes an unexpected turn. They end up in a heated argument, and for the first time, she lets out her true feelings. After that, the heroine begins to change little by little. She starts opening up to the protagonist. They go out together, having dates around town and at the park; they stay behind chatting after school; they run across the sports field as fast as they can—things they can only do while she’s still strong enough to do them. The heroine, who used to run track, stands on the field, gasping for air. She loves the feeling of the wind whipping past her when she runs. It makes her happy to be covered in sweat. She feels lucky just to be alive. With tears in her eyes, she says, “I want to live more.” She ends up being hospitalized after her disease progresses. Her condition gets worse, but the heroine is satisfied, glad that she could live life to the fullest even at the end. The protagonist visits her in the hospital, but she asks him not to come anymore. The heroine knows she’s approaching death, and she wants him to remember her as she was. She forces herself to smile and bids farewell to the protagonist. “Thank you…for living with me. It’s because of what you said that I could keep my hopes up till the end. Good-bye. I think I might have fallen in love with you.” A few months later, there’s a funeral for the heroine. Her friend comes to talk to the protagonist, and she tells him that the heroine looked happy right up until her last breath. The friend hands him a photo that the heroine had loved enough to put up in her hospital room. It’s a photo she took of herself and the protagonist while they were joking around one day. In the picture, she’s smiling brightly like any other teenage girl. The story comes to a close, and the end credits start to roll. The movie was originally supposed to end there, but after the credits, the extra scenes we shot start to play. In the same hospital room the heroine had been in, the protagonist gazes out the window, wearing a patient’s gown. “When I met her, I already knew I only had three more years to live.” He delivers a soliloquy in a voice-over, accompanied by subtitles. “She was in the same situation as me, and I made up my mind to be there for her. “But all the while, my own time was running out, too.” In the end, the protagonist gazes at the photo of the heroine and him together. “Sunny days. Rainbows. Coffee.” He silently thinks about all the things he loves. “Dad’s cooking. Mom’s smile. And…you.” The film comes to an end with one last spoken line by the protagonist: “Thank you for living with me.” No one moved once the movie finished. After a while, Ena got up to turn the lights back on. A few more seconds of silence went by, and then Hayami finally exhaled deeply and looked at Minami. “So, are you going to explain?” she asked quietly. She was calm; there was no anger in her voice. “Did we surprise you? I wanted to do something with Tsukishima’s performance in the nurse’s office, and we came up with the idea of changing the protagonist’s side of the story,” Minami said. “…I figured it was something like that,” replied Hayami. “Well, I can see how the earlier scene makes more sense like this.” “So, what did you think, Aoi? Didn’t it make the movie better?” Minami asked. Hayami was silent for a while. I was starting to think she might actually be angry after all, but it turned out I was wrong. With another sigh, she said, “Ena, can you turn the lights off again? And, Tsubasa, let me borrow your laptop.” In the darkened room, Hayami started going over the movie from the very beginning, focusing on the extra scenes and what came before and after them. When she was done, Ena switched on the lights again. “About the opening scene,” Hayami began thoughtfully, “the transition is a bit slow at the end. And if we’re going to do this, we should go all the way. I know it’s not your style, Tsubasa, but I think we should add a shot showing how the protagonist regrets time slipping away. That’ll make it easier to understand. I’m pretty sure we could use some of the spare footage we shot. Also—” Hayami raised several more points that stood out to her, like how we should refine the audio track of my voice-over that I’d recorded at home. Every critique she gave us showed she had fully grasped and accepted what we were trying to do. “If we make all those tweaks…I think it works, to be honest. It was pretty cool.” Minami and I looked at each other. “Yeah, I thought it was great,” Ena chimed in. “What a plot twist.” “I—I really liked it, too,” Ichika added. We decided to watch the original version to compare the two, but in the end, everyone agreed that the alternative version was better. “Hey, Tsubasa.” Hayami turned to Minami, her expression tense like she’d come to a decision. “The submission deadline is in three days, right?” “Yup, that’s right,” Minami replied casually. “Uh, how are you so chill? Anyway, I guess we gotta do what we gotta do. Let’s dig up everything we have to fix. And I think we better change the synopsis for the movie, too. I’ll take care of that, so—” “Is it just me or do you look kind of excited, Aoi? What’s up?” Minami cut in. After a pause, Hayami said, “I’d been wondering about Tsukishima’s performance, too—and you tied it in really well with those extra scenes. I want to use the changes you came up with, Tsubasa…and as long as we’re submitting something, I want us to aim for the top prize.” “I like the way you think,” Tsubasa said. “But I’m so hungry. Can’t we put off the work till tomorrow and eat for now?” “Huh? But, Tsubasa, it’s your fault the film’s not ready yet.” “C’mon, we’re here for a party, aren’t we? I mean, it’s not like we can really celebrate the film being finished anymore—but let’s let our hair down a bit!” Hayami pulled a face that said, “What am I going to do with you?” but in the end, she caved in with a shrug, and the party commenced. We went down to the kitchen and carried up all the food to Ena’s room, and then we raised our glasses in a toast. With everyone in high spirits, I forgot about how nervous I had been earlier and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Ena and Ichika chatted with me, too, and I felt really at ease with everyone. The lively party got a bit weird when Ena brought out the amazake; apparently, it was something of a tradition for Ena to make Hayami drink some sweet sake at their premieres. Hayami started slurring her words at me, and Ichika, who’d drunk some with her, was soon cracking up over nothing. Meanwhile, Minami and Ena sipped the amazake peacefully, watching the other two get tipsy. Eventually, the room grew quiet, and everyone except me and Minami nodded off to sleep. “Ahh. This is how our parties always end up,” Minami said with a warm smile, watching the trio of girls sleeping soundly. “Really? They’re like this every time?” “Pretty much. We’re only drinking amazake now, but I’m a bit worried about what’s gonna happen when we grow up. How crazy would they get with real alcohol?” Still, Minami’s eyes were full of love as she gazed across at her friends. I’m sure the four of them will stay friends, I thought. Even when they move on from drinking amazake to real sake, nothing else will change. They’ll always be close… I felt a pang of regret that I wouldn’t be a part of that. The thought of my illness crossed my mind, and I fell silent, sinking into loneliness. “Hey, wanna get some fresh air?” Minami asked. Ena’s room had an impressive balcony. The two of us slipped out and stood side by side in the soft moonlight. “I’m glad we convinced Aoi—it looks like everything will work out,” Minami said. “I had so much fun putting the movie together, and I thought those extra scenes were the highlights. What about you, Tsukishima? How did you like your first attempt at filmmaking? Did you have fun?” Seeing her easygoing smile from the corner of my eye, I reflected on my own experience. “Yeah… I had a lot of fun, too. I never even imagined I’d ever be in a movie. Honestly, I’m really grateful that you invited me to join in…” Those few words weren’t enough to express everything, but it was still how I genuinely felt. The filmmaking club had given me an achievement I never could have touched by checking off my solo bucket list. I had even come to hope that I’d be able to keep spending time with Minami and everyone else for as long as I could. Except… The words I’d heard from my doctor the other day were hanging over me: “You aren’t at the critical stage yet, but there’s still a chance that symptoms will start appearing during summer vacation. So you should prepare yourself for that possibility.” I’d joined the club in mid-May, and two months had whizzed by in the blink of an eye. My days with the girls had been packed with excitement, but the time limit had come quicker than I’d expected. There was nothing I could do about that, though. It was probably best to start distancing myself from the club. I’d finished my role, too, so it made sense to break it off now. I just had to find the right timing. “You’re gone again,” Minami said. “What?” I noticed her looking closely at me. “You disappeared somewhere else.” “No…I haven’t disappeared. I’m right here.” I smiled, trying to sound cheerful, but didn’t know if I’d convinced her. “You’re something of an enigma, Tsukishima.” Minami let out a quiet laugh. After a pause, she went on. “You’re close with the nurse for some reason, but you don’t get smug about it or anything, and you helped us out making the movie… You’re really nice, but sometimes you disappear…” The air around her shifted slightly. At some point, I’d turned to face her. “And that’s not all,” she continued. “Back in first year, when the girl was getting bullied… I tried to be secretive about being friendly toward her—I didn’t want to make her stand out even more. I was even careful just saying hi to her. But you noticed me, Tsukishima. How come?” I hadn’t expected Minami to think anything of that. “Yeah…” I hesitated. “I could see you were being subtle about it. Still, it was obvious to me,” I said honestly. “Why was that?” “Because I was watching you all the time. I don’t know when I started to, but I just couldn’t look away.” It was a clear, starlit night; only the darkness, the moon, and the stars were watching us. As I stood there, aware of the beautiful sky above our heads, Minami smiled at me. “I have a feeling that maybe your words would’ve bounced off me if I’d heard you say that before—when I didn’t get what romance is. For me, it was something that existed just in songs and movies.” Then, suddenly, she asked, “Do you want to go out with me?” My eyes flew to hers. Every sound in the world seemed to be drawn in by her gaze. I was too stunned to speak. She smiled again. “What it means to fall in love with someone—I think I might know what that feels like now, just a little bit. Maybe it happened because you’re similar to the type of guy I like. You’re shouldering a kind of sadness, and you look like you’re hiding something… We’re not in a movie, though, so I know I must just be imagining it. But right now, you’re all I can see, Tsukishima. And more than anything else…I have the most fun when I’m with you. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.” I couldn’t believe this was actually happening—except my throbbing pulse and the breeze blowing against my skin was proof that I wasn’t dreaming. I didn’t know what to do. Not even in my wildest dreams had I ever dared to hope for this. But I didn’t even have a year left to live. If I said yes to Minami here, she would eventually have to grieve the death of her boyfriend. And if she found out about my illness… “Maybe you’ve got things mixed up,” I said, desperately trying to suppress my own feelings. “You might just like me as a friend or as a club member. Maybe that’s why you have fun when I’m around…” Minami fell silent. After a little while, her cheeks softened in a smile. “So, how about we test it?” “Uh, test…what, exactly?” “Let’s try kissing. And if my heart beats faster, that means I like you, Tsukishima—no… Makoto. And then we’ll know nothing is mixed up.” Minami leaned over, closing the distance between us. Her idea should have made me feel shy and flustered, but somehow all I felt was fear. I had the feeling that if I let this happen, there would be no turning back. This must be some sort of practical joke. A prank that only Minami was in on, where she’d pull out at the last minute. She’d see my wide-eyed face, burst out laughing, then tease me for it… The next moment, a softness I’d never felt before touched my lips. I felt as if I’d tasted the entirety of life in a single moment. Minami drew back and opened her eyes, looking at me with a shy smile. “My heart was going crazy,” she said. “I knew it. I really do like you a lot, Makoto.” Ah… Why now? I thought. After all this time having God ignore my wishes, one wish that shouldn’t be granted was about to come true. I hadn’t even dared to write it down in my notebook. I knew deep down that I shouldn’t continue on this path. But it was the first time in my life that a girl I liked had told me she liked me back. Am I allowed to have this once-in-a-lifetime experience? I wondered. I don’t know yet how things are going to change for me. Still, when the time comes, I’ll find a way. I’ll choose to live my life in a way that won’t make her sad. So… “I like you, too, Minami. With all my heart.” My words fell quietly in the air like a lonely prayer. Like a teardrop. Minami smiled at me, as if to scoop up that prayer. “So, you’ll be my boyfriend?” “Yes.” “That makes me really happy, Makoto.” The girl I’d fallen for was someone who made movies. She was a kind person with a beautiful soul, and right now she was looking at me as if nothing else in the world mattered. I might not be able to see where our story would lead, but I couldn’t stop it from moving forward.