your name.

  What, you want to know? Um, well, about the mayoral election.

  Huh? Details? Oh, you know, how the town administration is all just figurin’ out how to hand out subsidies, and it’s the same no matter who does it, but how there are “some kids” whose livelihood depends on it, et cetera. Dumb stuff like that. When you heard them, you said, “That’s me they’re talkin’ about, right?” So I said I thought it probably was. I mean, if you ask me, I’m gonna answer, right? Then, Mitsuha, what do you suppose you did?

  You seriously don’t remember? You kicked the desk with the vase on it right toward Matsumoto’s group! And with a great big grin on your face! Matsumoto and the others got scared, and of course, the vase broke, and the whole class went dead quiet. Actually, you gave me the chills, too!

  “Wh-wh-what in the world?”

  I turn pale. After school, I run straight home. Yotsuha and Gran are in the living room, drinking tea without a care in the world. Glancing at them out of the corner of my eye, I run up the stairs, shut myself in my room, and open my classics notebook. Who are you? it still reads. I turn a few more pages.

  My skin crawls. Now there’s a whole two pages filled with small letters in the same handwriting. First, in big letters, Mitsuha Miyamizu. Then there are lots of question marks around it and bits of personal information about me.

  Year 2, Class 3 / Teshigawara , friend, occult geek, dumb but a good guy / Sayaka , friend, quiet, kinda cute

  Lives with her grandma and her little sister Yotsuha / Way out in the sticks / Her dad is mayor / She’s a shrine maiden? / Sounds like her mom is dead / Her dad doesn’t live with them / Doesn’t have many friends / Has boobs

  Then, in larger letters, What the heck is this life??

  I stare at the notebook. I’m trembling. The scenery of Tokyo shimmers in my mind, as faint as a rising haze. Cafés, a part-time job, guy friends, walking home with someone…

  A corner of my heart catches the tail of an impossible conclusion.

  “Is this…? Could we be…?”

  “Is this seriously…?”

  I’m holed up in my room, staring at my phone in denial. For a while now, my fingers have been shaking as if they partly belong to somebody else as I scroll through the entries in my journal app. Sandwiched between the ones I wrote, there are several headers I don’t remember.

  First Harajuku-Omotesando panini-rama! / At Odaiba aquarium with two boys / Observation platform tour and flea market / Visited father’s workplace Kasumigaseki District!

  A corner of my mind catches the tail of an inconceivable conclusion.

  Could this be…?

  In my dreams, are this girl and I—

  In my dreams, are this boy and I—

  —switching bodies?!

  The sun rises from the edge of the mountains. Little by little, the daylight washes over the lake town. The birds in the morning, the hush at midday, the insect songs in the evening, the glitter of the night sky.

  The sun rises between the buildings. Little by little, the daylight glints off countless windows. The throngs of people in the morning, the hum of midday, the scents of everyday life at half-light, the sparkle of the streets at night.

  Over and over, we’re captivated by moments like these.

  And, gradually, we learn.

  Taki Tachibana—Taki—is a high school kid my age who lives in Tokyo, and…

  At irregular intervals, unexpectedly, two or three times a week, I swap bodies with Mitsuha Miyamizu, who lives way out in the sticks. It triggers when we fall asleep. We have no idea what causes it.

  Our memories of the time we spend switched fade as soon as we wake up. It feels like a lucid dream.

  Even so, we’re definitely swapping. The reactions of the people around us prove it more than anything.

  Now that we’re aware that we are actually switching with each other, we’re starting to hold on to bits of memories from the dreams. For example, at this point, even when I’m awake, I know there’s a boy named Taki who lives in Tokyo.

  Now I’m positive there’s a girl named Mitsuha living in a country town somewhere. I don’t have any solid evidence or rational explanation, but I have this strange sense that tells me it’s real.

  We’ve also started communicating with each other. On the days when we switch, we leave diary entries or notes on each other’s smartphones.

  We’ve tried texting and calling, too, but for some reason, neither of us could get through. Anyway, we’re lucky we figured out a way to communicate at all. We both need to keep each other’s lives intact and undisturbed… So we set rules.

 

  • Absolutely no baths, ever.

  • Do not look at or touch my body.

  • When you sit, keep your legs together.

  • Don’t get too friendly with Tesshi. Try to get him and Saya together.

  • Don’t touch other boys.

  • Don’t touch the girls, either.

 

  • I told you before, don’t waste my money. Remember?

  • Don’t be late for school or work. Learn how to get there already.

  • Don’t talk with an accent.

  • Are you sneaking baths? I think I smell shampoo…

  • Don’t get cuddly with Tsukasa, you idiot. People will get the wrong idea.

  • Don’t get too friendly with Okudera-senpai, I’m begging you.

  —But still… I grit my teeth reading another of Mitsuha’s journal entries.

  Reading Taki’s entry in my diary, my blood starts to boil. Honestly, I swear, this is just completely…

  That guy…

  is such a…!

  That girl…

  You “tore up the court” playing basketball in gym?! That’s not me at all! Not only that, what are you doing jumping and bouncing around in front of the boys?! Saya even yelled at me and told me to keep my chest and stomach and legs covered properly! Male gazes! Watch your skirt! This is very basic stuff!!

  Mitsuha, you twit, don’t go scarfing down crazy-expensive cakes! You’re freaking out Tsukasa and the other guys, and that’s my money!

  It’s your body eating them, Taki! Besides, I’m working at that restaurant, too! Plus, you’re taking too many shifts. I can’t do anything fun this way.

  That’s because you keep burning through my money! And seriously, no matter what I do, I can’t make those braided cords with your grandma!

  On the way home, Okudera-senpai and I stopped and had tea! I tried to buy hers for her, but she paid for mine instead. “Take me out when you graduate from high school,” she said! Can you believe that? “That’s a promise,” I told her, all cool-like. Your relationship is blossoming, so, you’re welcome.

  Mitsuha, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t go messing with my relationships!

  Taki! What is this love letter?! Why is some guy I don’t know confessing to me?! Why did you tell him you’d “think about it”?!

  Ha-ha. You aren’t using your assets at all. Don’cha think you’d be more popular if you let me run your life?

  Don’t get full of yourself! You don’t even have a girlfriend!

  You don’t have anybody, either!

  It’s not that… I don’t have one—I’m just not looking!

  It’s not that…

  That’s Mitsuha’s ringtone.

  Meaning, I’m living in the country today, I think sleepily. Awesome. I’ll get to put in some more time on the café project I’m working on with Teshigawara after school. Yeah, and also—

  I sit up on the futon and look down at my body.

  Mitsuha’s pajamas have gotten really conservative lately. She used to sleep in a baggy nightshirt without a bra. This morning, though, she’s wearing underwear that’s kinda constricting and this shirt that’s buttoned up all the way. There’s no telling when we’re gonna swap, so she’s being careful. Well, I get that. I do. But.

  I reach for her bre
asts. This is my body today. Nothing wrong with touching my own body, I think, just like always. Only. Except. But…

  My hands pause, and I mutter quietly:

  “…Guess I shouldn’t.”

  The sliding door rattles open.

  “……You really do like your boobs, don’t you, Sis?”

  That’s all the little sister says before closing the sliding door. I watch her go…while kneading my breasts.

  …This is okay, right? From on top of her clothes. Just a little.

  “Graaaaan. Why’s the body of our shrine’s god all the way out here?” Yotsuha whines.

  Gran, who’s walking in front of us, answers without turning around. “Thanks to Mayugorou, I don’t know, either.”

  Mayugorou?

  “…Who’s that?” I whisper to Yotsuha, who’s plodding along next to me.

  “Huh? You dunno? He’s famous.”

  Famous? I don’t really get how these relationships work in the country.

  The three Miyamizu women—me, the grandma, and Yotsuha—have been hiking mountain roads for almost an hour already. Today, they tell me, we’re taking an offering up to the body of their shrine’s god on top of the mountain. These people are living in a folktale, I think, thoroughly impressed.

  The sun shining through the canopy of maple leaves dyes them bright red. The air is crisp and dry, and there’s a strong scent of dead leaves in the pleasant wind. October. Who knows when it happened, but it’s full autumn in this town now.

  Come to think of it, I wonder how old this old lady is.

  The thought comes to me gazing at the small back ahead of me. Even on this mountain trail, she’s wearing traditional clothes. She’s a surprisingly strong walker, but her back has a textbook stoop, and she’s using a walking stick. I’ve never lived with an old person, so I can’t even begin to guess her age or what kind of shape she’s in.

  “Hey, Grandma!”

  I break into a run, then kneel in front of her, offering my back. After all, this little old lady is raising Mitsuha and her sister, and she always packs us really good lunches.

  “Let me piggyback you. If you want…”

  “Oh, may I?” Even as she speaks, she’s happily lowering her weight onto my back. I catch a distinct whiff of a mysterious fragrance I smelled once at somebody else’s house a very long time ago. For a moment, I get a strange, warm feeling, as if this moment has happened before. The old lady weighs nothing.

  “Grandma, you’re way light— Whoa!”

  The moment I stand, the added cargo buckles my (Mitsuha’s) knees. Yotsuha hastily supports me, complaining, “Come on, Sis!” Come to think of it, Mitsuha’s body is pretty flimsy and thin and light, too. Moving through the world this way…it’s kinda amazing. The thought gets to me a bit.

  “Mitsuha, Yotsuha.”

  I hear the old lady’s voice over my shoulder, sounding serene.

  “Are you familiar with musubi?”

  “Musubi?”

  Yotsuha asks the question from beside me. She’s hugging my backpack to her stomach. Below us, through the gaps between the trees, I can see the whole round lake. We’ve climbed pretty high. Mitsuha’s body is all sweaty from climbing with her grandma on her back.

  “In the old language, our local guardian deity is called Musubi, ‘creator of spirits.’ It’s a word with several very profound meanin’s.”

  Guardian deity? Where’d this come from all of a sudden? Still, the old lady’s voice is like something out of the Manga Japan Folktales program, and it’s oddly persuasive.

  “Did you know?” she starts again. “Joinin’ threads is called musubi. Joinin’ people is also musubi. The passage of time is musubi, too. They all use the same word. It’s a name for our god, and the god’s power. It describes the braided cords we make, divine acts, and the flow of time itself.”

  I can hear the murmur of running water. Must be a stream around here, I think.

  “Comin’ together to form a shape, twistin’ and tanglin’, sometimes comin’ undone, breakin’ off, then reunitin’. That’s a braided cord. That’s time. That’s musubi.”

  Without really meaning to, I visualize a stream of clear water. It runs up against rocks and splits, mingles with others, joins up again, and, seen as a whole, it’s all connected. I don’t really understand what the old lady’s saying, but I feel as if I’ve learned something very important. Musubi. Even after I wake up, I’ll make sure to remember that word. Sweat drips off my chin, falling to the ground with a distinctive plop, and is absorbed into the dry mountain.

  “Here, drink up.”

  We take a short break in the shade. The old lady hands me a thermos.

  It’s nothing big, just sweetened barley tea. Even so, it’s shockingly good, and I drain two cups in a row. “C’mon! Me too!” Yotsuha pesters. This may be the best drink I’ve ever had.

  “That’s another musubi.”

  “Huh?”

  As I hand the thermos to Yotsuha, I involuntarily look over at the old lady. She’s sitting at the base of a tree.

  “Puttin’ anythin’ in your body, whether it’s water, rice, or sake, is also called musubi. Did you know that? What you put in your body binds to your soul, you see. And so, the offerin’ we’re makin’ today is an important tradition meant to connect the god and humans to each other, a custom that the Miyamizu family has observed for centuries.”

  Before I notice, the trees end, and the lake town below us—now about the size of a sketchbook—is half-hidden beneath the clouds. When I look up, the wisps of cloud still overhead seem paper-thin, transparent and shining. They’re flowing rapidly into the distance and dissolving in the strong wind. We’re in a rocky area where only moss grows. We’ve finally reached the peak.

  “I see it, I see it!”

  Yotsuha’s skipping around. I catch up to her and follow her gaze. Ahead, there’s a crater-like basin about the size of an athletic field, as if the top of the mountain has been gouged out. The inside is a green, marshy area, and near its center stands a massive, solitary tree.

  I’d never even imagined a view like this one, and I stare.

  It’s almost like a natural floating garden. You’d never be able to see it from the town. The boondocks are all kinds of awesome.

  “This is the edge of the other side,” the old lady says.

  We’ve gone down to the basin floor, and there’s a little brook flowing in front of us. The big tree is beyond.

  “Other side?” Yotsuha and I say together.

  “The hidden world, the next world.”

  The next world. Grandma’s folktale voice strokes my back like a cold wind. My feet falter just a little. A sacred mountain, or a power spot, or a save point—whatever it is, the atmosphere saturating it really does seem to belong to some other world.

  This better not be one of those places that doesn’t let you leave once you go in.

  “Yaaaay, it’s the next world!”

  Yotsuha whoops and splashes across the little stream. Kids are really something, all dumb and full of energy. Well, the weather’s nice, and the wind and the brook are both peaceful. I’d probably be embarrassed later if I got cold feet over something like this. I take the old lady’s hand so she won’t get wet, and we cross the brook on the stepping-stones.

  “In order to return to our world…,” the old lady begins, suddenly sounding solemn, “you two must leave behind what’s most precious to you.”

  “Huh?!” In spite of myself, my voice gets shrill.

  “W-wait, Grandma—don’t say that after we’re already here!”

  The old woman smiles at my protest, and her eyes squinch up. I can see the gaps where she’s missing teeth, and it’s really creepy.

  “There’s nothin’ to fear. I meant the sake. Take it out,” the old lady instructs, and both Yotsuha and I remove small urns from our backpacks. They’re the kind of thing you tend to see on Shinto altars in people’s houses. Made of glossy white ceramic, their rounded shapes are a
few inches across, and they widen into a pedestal at the base. The lids are sealed with braided cords, and I can hear liquid splashing inside.

  “Below the god’s body,” Grandma says, gazing at the enormous tree, “there’s a little shrine. Offer them there. That sake is half of you, you see.”

  Half of Mitsuha.

  I look at the urn in my hands. It’s that special sake, the stuff she made by chewing up rice. This sake was made by “binding” rice and this body… And I’m the one offering it. Feeling awkward—like I’m about to score a goal off a pass from someone I’ve been fighting with—but at the same time strangely proud, I start toward the great tree.

  This might be the first time I’ve heard real evening cicadas.

  I know what they are because it’s the sound effect they always use for evening in movies and games. Their melancholy, wavering song echoes all around me—everywhere—and it makes this whole experience seem a lot more movielike than an actual movie.

  There’s a loud rustling, and a flock of sparrows bursts out of the brush right in front of me. Having been under the impression that birds just hung out in trees, I’m startled, but Yotsuha runs after them, twirling around and around. She looks like she’s having fun. We must be pretty close to the town—there are faint dinnertime smells on the wind. The idea that it’s possible to so clearly distinguish the scents of everyday human life surprises me a little.

  “It’s already half-light.”

  Having completed the day’s formal business, Yotsuha sounds relieved, like she’s finally finished her homework. The evening sun lights up the girl and the old lady sidelong, like a spotlight. It’s almost too picture-perfect.