…But this isn’t… Tears spill over, and my vision blurs again. Something like a warm wave spreads through me, like a spring that’s welled up with the tears. Still crying, I laugh, talking to you.

This doesn’t tell me your name.

Then one more time, I surge forward with all my might.

I’m not afraid of anything now. I’m not scared of anyone. I’m not lonely anymore.

I finally understand.

I’m in love. We’re in love.

That means we’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.

And so I’ll live.

I’ll survive this.

No matter what happens, even if the stars fall, I will live.

Right up until it happened, no one managed to predict that the comet’s nucleus would shatter near Earth, or that there was a huge rocky mass buried in its ice-covered core.

The town happened to be holding its autumn festival that day. The strike occurred at 8:42 PM. The point of impact was near Miyamizu Shrine, where the festival was being held.

The meteorite instantly destroyed a wide area, centered on the shrine. The crater formed by the impact was nearly half a mile across. Water from the lake beside it rushed in, swallowing the remains of the town. Itomori became the site of the worst meteorite disaster in human history.

I remember these things as I look down over gourd-shaped New Itomori Lake. It reflects the sun in the midst of a faint morning haze, endlessly serene. It’s hard to imagine that three years ago it was the site of such a tragedy. I can’t quite believe that the comet I saw in the sky over Tokyo did this.

I’m standing on a rock-littered mountain peak, all alone.

I was here when I woke up.

For no real reason, I look at my right hand. There’s a single, half-drawn line on my palm.

“What is this…?” I mutter quietly.

“What was I doing way out here?”

I have a few habits I’ve unconsciously picked up.

For example, when I’m feeling rushed and flustered, I touch the back of my neck. When I wash my face, I look into my eyes, reflected in the mirror. Even on mornings when I’m in a hurry, when I step out the front door, I pause and take a long look at the scenery.

I also gaze at my palm for no reason.

“The next station is… Yoyogi… Yoyogi.”

As the synthetic audio announces the station, I realize I’m doing it again. I look away from my right hand, gazing absently out the window instead. We’re slowing down, and beyond the glass, the crowd of people standing on the platform flows by.

Abruptly, my whole body breaks out in goose bumps.

A beat later, I think, It’s her.

She was standing on the platform.

The train stops. Even waiting for the doors to open seems to take too long, and I leave the train at a sprint. I turn in a circle, scanning the platform. Several passengers dart suspicious glances at me as they pass, and my head finally cools down.