It feels like there are other things I should be doing, but I can’t think of anything specific. I just want to go to Mitsuha’s town again, fast. Becoming Mitsuha means talking to her, too. When we’re swapped, at the same time, we’re connected in some special way. We’re trading experiences. We’re bound together the way her grandma was talking about. If I turn into Mitsuha, I think I’ll be able to talk about what happened today. I want to joke around with her. “That’s why you’re not popular, you know.” “It’s your fault for promising stuff without checking first.”

I open the memo on my phone. There’s more to Mitsuha’s note.

The comet should be visible just about the time the date ends.

Eeeeee, how romantic! I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Whether it’s me or you, let’s do our best on the date!

Comet?

I look up at the sky. The last traces of the sunset are already gone. A few of the brightest stars are out, and a jet’s flying past, humming faintly, but that’s it. Needless to say, there’s no comet.

“What’s she talking about?” I mutter quietly.

If a comet people could actually see was passing, it would’ve been pretty big news. Maybe Mitsuha got mixed up.

Abruptly, my heart twinges uneasily in its darkest recesses.

Something’s trying to surface in my mind.

I flip through the phone and pull up Mitsuha’s cell number, staring at those eleven digits. Back when we first started swapping, I tried calling this number several times, but for some reason, it never went through. I touch it with a fingertip. The “calling” sound plays. Then I hear a voice from the speaker:

“The number you have dialed is unavailable. Either the number is not in service or the unit is turned off or out of range…”

I pull the phone away from my ear and press END CALL.

So calls really don’t get through. Well, whatever. I’ll just tell her about this train wreck of a day next time we swap. I’ll ask her about the comet, too. We’ll switch tomorrow or the day after, anyway. With that thought, I finally descend the pedestrian bridge. There’s a pale, smooth half-moon overhead, all alone, as if someone forgot it there.

But after that, Mitsuha and I never swapped again.

I move my pencil tirelessly.

Carbon particles blend into the paper fibers, lines accumulate, and the once-white sketchbook grows darker and darker. Even so, I haven’t managed to completely capture the sights in my memory.

Every morning, I take the train to school during the commuter rush. I sit through boring classes. I eat lunch with Tsukasa and Takagi. I walk through town, looking up at the sky. Somewhere along the way, its blue has grown a little deeper. Bit by bit, the trees lining the streets begin to change color.

In my room at night, I draw. On my desk, there’s a stack of mountain guidebooks I borrowed from the library. I search the ranges of Hida on my smartphone. I look for ridgelines that match the ones I remember. I keep my pencil in motion, trying to copy them down onto paper somehow.