Kimi no Na Wa Afterstory

9: Mitsuha

Too bad some things are more easily said than done.

After that day, Taki and I became friends. Hesitantly, we reached out towards one another, first within the confines of meeting conversations, which slowly melted into more relaxed small talk during coffee breaks. Now, there seemed to be no more hesitation between us in the moments that we pass by each other, easy and genuine smiles lighting our faces in the other's direction.

Truthfully, I hide my embarrassment well. Invariably, once my eyes land on Taki, I'm reminded of my overwhelming tears outside the coffee shop. He must have been so bewildered. Caught up during the moment, there is no accurate or single justification for why I acted the way I did. Perhaps it was anguish, or regret, surprise, or even relief. If I could piece my relationship with Taki back together starting from that moment, I would. But fate has stopped playing with my life in the ways of time, and my thoughts always sober upon this reflection.

Time is inconvenient but also the most effective salve for hurting wounds.

Sitting at my office desk, I shook my head, leaning back in my seat with a sigh. Some affairs were just too complicated to resolve in a swift move. If I told Taki that I deeply regretted my lack of communication following that day, how would he react? My actions have already caused him plenty of anguish-it seemed like further elaboration would end up twisting the complicated knot even more.

If he hadn't reappeared coincidentally in my life following the cafe day, I would have restlessly, but successfully cast aside any further thoughts of him. In a busy city like Tokyo, life moved too fast to fixate upon single events.

But I did meet him again. He is a real, concrete person in my life, inseparable from my current work as inseparable as our entangled strings of fate. Empathy that grew from some isolated, dark pit within me flourished and grew into a magnificent beast impossible to ignore.

He seemed ready to move on himself, judging from his happiness and lack of initiation into conversations of our past. But his hesitant words confirming the ephemeral, but intense mutual feelings that we had once shared always came to echo in my head.

Does he still feel the same way now?

Do I?

Yet another thought hard to put aside, long past its expiration date, too rotten to delve into without courage, but also too important to completely throw away. So I still harbor strange trains of thoughts even after the passage of all these months.

I slumped slightly into my seat, then shot straight back up as if a corset suddenly squeezed me upright with a harsh tug. Focus! With the project design deadline only a week ahead, the amount of work to finalize was taxing enough without wispy thoughts during coffee breaks. I was playing an impossible game to grasp empty air.

This Itomori Project is my most precious brainchild, a creation from years of dreaming and finally months of realization. With or without Taki by my side, I will see this plan brought into creation with the breaths of life that I fed into my pen and computer.

At the beginning of the project, I contemplated the best way to make the memorial interactive, yet not intrusive upon the respectful image I wanted to maintain. How do I let tourists and well-meaning visitors take happy photos without creating an ugly juxtaposition to the severity of the disaster that the memorial is dedicated to?

Smiling down at my pen, I remembered the sheer brilliance of Mr. Tanaka's suggestion. Truly to be expected of a man with an eye for balancing both the artist and consumer's wishes.

What about capturing a happy moment in Itomori?

My eyes had blinked shut and then open in an instance of surprise. It had been the total opposite of the atmosphere I wanted to create. I wanted people to feel the way my life rocked out of control. Truthfully, I wanted somber, quiet expressions when people first made contact with the memorial. There wasn't space in my heart to desire happiness from such a horrid experience.

Mr. Tanaka, sensing my apprehension, had smiled docilely and appropriately backed down. "I mean no offense to you, Mitsuha, given that we have agreed to provide you full artistic freedom in this project. However, as a man with acute experience in these things, I kindly ask you to consider what I have just said. Would it not be splendid to spread meaningful happiness than sadness?"

A lesson on happiness. I went out of that meeting in a stupor, dumbly clutching my existing pencil drafts close to my chest. It was a funny, yet strangely liberating feeling, as though I had been gently shaken awake.

From that point onward, I forged into unknown territories with a rigor that fortified my creativity sessions late at night. When I showed up the next day with my concealer working extremely hard to cover dark under-eye circles, I was firmly reprimanded by Matsume. His frown had scared me at first, since he was usually such a cuddly-looking bear. But then he surprised me as well.

"Let us help you more, Mitsuha. We're the employees at an architectural business after all. We can't have you being the only one to show up to work with fashionably dark under-eye circles."

Now looking down at my finalized drafts, it was clear as day that my experience here has taught me many things. Some lessons were born out of tough love, like my initial encounters with Taki and arguments with the design team, and other ones from a warm love which blossomed over time.

It all started from one chance encounter many years. A mutual limerence characterized by confusion and utter chaos. Abrupt endings and even more abrupt reunions. How will this all unfold and end?

I don't think it's surprising to say that I have no clue, but I'm grateful and glad.

I'm glad that I learned your name again, Taki.