“Yessir.”

“Also, here—” He holds out a big lunch box to me. “Eat this up top.”

Automatically, I accept it with both hands. It’s heavy.

“Th-thank you very much…”

…For everything. Seriously. Why would you do so much for me? Oh yeah, and the ramen was super good. I can’t make any of the words come out the way I want them to—all I manage is a tiny “Thanks. Really.” The guy smiles slightly, takes out a cigarette, and lights up.

“I dunno what’s goin’ on with you,” he says, exhaling smoke. “But that picture of Itomori you made. That was good.”

There’s a lump in my throat. Distant thunder rumbles softly.

I’m walking up a path to the shrine that’s as vague as a deer track.

Sometimes I stop to check the destination I’ve marked on the map against the GPS on my phone. It’s all right—I’m getting closer. The surrounding scenery looks sort of familiar, but I’ve climbed this mountain only once, in a dream. I’m not very sure about it. That means, for now, all I can do is follow the map.

After I got out of the car, I bowed low and stayed that way until my ride was completely out of sight. As I did, I thought about Tsukasa and Okudera-senpai, too. In the end, this guy and those two came all the way out here because they were worried about me. I must’ve looked really pathetic. I bet they thought I was about to cry the whole time. I was probably so aggressively distracted that, even if they wanted to ditch me, they couldn’t.

I can’t keep acting like that forever. I can’t keep taking advantage of the help people offer me, I think firmly, gazing at New Itomori Lake through the gaps in the trees.

Suddenly, a big raindrop hits my face. The leaves around me start to rustle and shake. I pull up my hood and break into a run.

The rain keeps falling, pouring down with enough force to carve the dirt away.

The temperature’s falling rapidly, absorbed by the rain. I can feel it on my skin.

I eat my lunch in a little cave while waiting for the weather to let up. There are three big rice balls the size of my fist and lots of side dishes. The thick-sliced braised pork and bean sprouts stir-fried in sesame oil make it look like such a stereotypical ramen-shop lunch that it’s funny. My body shakes with cold, but as I eat, I gradually warm up again. Chewing the grains of rice and swallowing, I can sense exactly where my throat and stomach are.

This is musubi, I think.

“Putting anything in your body, whether it’s water, rice, or sake, is also called musubi. What you put in your body binds to your soul, you see.”

That day, I decided I’d remember those words even after I woke up. I say it aloud:

“…They twist and tangle, sometimes come undone, and reunite. That’s musubi. That’s time.”