Your Lie in April

In the hush of a quiet Japanese town, prodigious pianist Kousei Arima once dazzled audiences with flawless performances that seemed to turn air into melody. The sudden loss of his mother shatters that world, leaving him unable to hear the sound of his own playing—a phantom silence that turns every keystroke into a hollow echo. Retreating from the stage, he drifts through days tinged in monochrome, his once‑vibrant passion for music dimmed to a distant memory.

Everything begins to shift the day he crosses paths with the spirited violinist Miyazono Kaori. Her unapologetically free style and irrepressible energy clash with Kousei’s restrained, precise world, drawing out a side of his artistry that he never knew existed. Through spontaneous duets and shared rehearsals, the piano and violin become a conversation, each note a tentative step toward reclaiming a voice that had gone mute. Kaori’s presence hints at a deeper purpose, a secret that quietly fuels her relentless devotion to the music they create together.

Alongside them are Kousei’s longtime companions, the bright‑eyed Tsubaki Sawabe and the easy‑going Ryōta Watari, whose steady friendship grounds him amid the swirling change. Their support, layered with unspoken feelings and youthful optimism, paints a portrait of a close‑knit circle navigating the delicate balance between past grief and present possibilities. As the seasons turn, the trio’s interactions ripple with lingering questions about ambition, love, and the true sound of freedom.

The film drifts between the quiet introspection of a boy confronting his inner silence and the radiant, sometimes chaotic world of performance art. Its tone is a blend of melancholy and hopeful yearning, underscored by a soundtrack that whispers of unfinished symphonies and the promise that music—like memory—can be both a sanctuary and a catalyst for renewal.

Last Updated: September 24, 2025 at 04:56