through the air for as far as I can see, way off into the distance. Just then—I shudder, breaking out in goose bumps all over. It’s happening again. I squeeze my eyes shut involuntarily. As I stand there, stock-still, the rain hits my face, and the sound of it echoes in my ears. For the past two and a half years, the rain has been a constant presence. It’s like a pulse that never stops, no matter how long you hold your breath. Like the light seeping through your eyelids, no matter how tightly you squeeze them shut. Like a heart that never falls truly silent, no matter how you try to calm it. Exhaling slowly, I open my eyes. Rain. The black surface of the ocean undulates as if it’s taking a breath, sucking the rain down into its bottomless depths. It’s as though the sky and sea are conspiring together to raise the level of the ocean, for the sake of some practical joke. I’m getting scared. A shiver wells up from deep inside me. I feel like I’m going to be ripped apart and scattered. I squeeze the railing. Breathe deeply through my nose. And, as always, I remember her. Her wide eyes, her vibrant expression, the energetic and dynamic tone of her voice, the long hair she wore in twin ponytails. And I think, It’s all right. She’s here. She’s alive, in Tokyo. As long as she’s here, I have a firm link to this world. “—So don’t cry, Hodaka.” That was what she said that night, in the hotel we’d fled to in Ikebukuro. The sound of the rain on the roof was like a distant drum. The scent of the same shampoo I’d used; her gentle, all-forgiving voice; her skin, gleaming pale in the darkness—they’re all so vivid that suddenly, I forget I’m not still there. Maybe we’re actually in that hotel right now, and I’ve only imagined my future self on a ferry, like a spell of déjà vu. Maybe yesterday’s graduation ceremony and the ferry are all illusions, and the real me is still in bed at that hotel. When I wake up in the morning, the rain will have stopped, she’ll be next to me, the world will be as it always was, and the ordinary daily routine will start up again. The whistle blows sharply. Page 2 Goldenagato | mp4directs.com