When discussing ending of Your Lie in April (四月は君の嘘 / Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso) from Fall season 2014, to my surprise, I tend to run to an unexpected number of people asking what the “lie” from the title is referring to. Leaving the last episode, it didn’t occur to me this was in any way an open question; Kaori clearly states that during her meeting with Kousei in April, she said a single lie: that she’s in love with Ryouta. However, some people suggest that besides that, there’s one more unintentional lie Kaori said: that she and Kousei will play together one more time. A promise we all know was never fulfilled, as she didn’t survive her operation. To which, I say a firm no.

I admit that I don’t remember whether this promise was even made during April, but even if, for the sake of argument, we say it did, I’d still have two major problems with the notion. First of all, I find it hard to believe that the “lie” would refer to two unrelated things to begin with. It just seems too complicated and inelegant, somehow taking away the poetry her lie gives to the show (and the manga). But even if we dismiss that as well, there’s one more thing: I don’t think their promise went unfulfilled at all. And to understand why, we need to talk a little bit about Voices of a Distant Star (ほしのこえ / Hoshi no Koe), a debut short movie by one Makoto Shinkai (誠新海), director of 5 Centimeters per Second (2007) and award winning Your Name (2016).

If you’re not familiar with the Voices of a Distant Star, it’s a short story about two lovers separated by Space. Desperately trying to stay in touch with each other, they keep exchanging messages, but as the girl, Mikako, gets further and further away, the time it takes for the messages to arrive prolongs. Seconds turn to hours, then eventually years. By the end, we’re left with a scene, where both of the main characters think the same line they’d wish the other to know: “I’m here.”

Now it’s important to understand, they’re not communicating telepathically or anything supernatural. It’s more of a feeling of a presence of the other person, as their minds touch for a brief moment, in culmination of what I believe to be a central theme of the movie: that if strong enough, thoughts can overcome space and time. A line the characters almost literally say at one point:

Mikako: 「ね、昇くん、私達は遠く遠くすごくすごーく遠く離れているけど・・・」 Mikako: “You see, Noboru, we’re far, far, so, soo far away from each other…” Noboru: 「でも思いが時間や距離を超えることだって、あるかもしれない。」 Noboru: “But perhaps thoughts can overcome time and space.”

But why bringing up a decade old movie as an argument? Because the idea of thoughts overcoming physical limits is not something unique to Hoshi no Koe, rather it’s reoccurring theme in popular culture. Hence why Nozomi (wish) is faster than Hikari (light) on Tokaido Shinkansen line between Tokyo and Shin-Osaka. Makoto Shinkai’s movie just happened to be my favorite incarnation of the idea.

By now, you’ve probably figured out where I’m going with this. The trippy segment in the last episode of Your Lie in April, where Kousei plays the piano and Kaori appears to play him violin, is not a hallucination, nor is it weird stylistic choise. As Kousei continues playing, he worries about Kaori, because her operation is occurring at that exact moment.

I suggest that as they think about each other, they experience similar phenomena as Mikako and Noboru; their mutual thoughts and feeling for one another manage to reach each other moments before Kaori passes away. That’s why Kousei cries at the end of his performance. At that point, he already knows what’s happened to Kaori. That’s also why his reaction when others have told him about the outcome of the operation was left out from the script, it’s was simply unnecessary.

This might not change much, but for me, it changes downright tragic ending to a bittersweet one, as, even though not physically, it really was real Kaori who played with Kousei at the end, fulfilling her promise. And that’s how I choose to interpret the ending.