Hello, Limerence
Cut along the dashed lines and pass the cards around the table.
Before we talk about the book at all: when you first saw the word limerence, did it feel like a word you had been missing, or like a word for something you would rather not name? Tell us in one breath.
Where did you do most of your reading of this one, and did it want a particular kind of light or weather? Some books ask for a warm drink and a closed door.
The book treats a private, mostly unspoken feeling as something worth a whole story. Did that make you feel seen, or a little exposed? No wrong answer tonight.
Limerence lives on small evidence: a glance, a message, a coincidence read as fate. Which small moment in the book made your chest tighten with recognition?
There is comfort in the imagined version of a person, because they never disappoint you. Did the book make you gentle toward that comfort, or impatient with it?
Yamaguchi lets a lot happen in silence and in the space between what is said and what is meant. Which quiet stretch of the book did you find most soothing to sit inside?
Without giving anything away about where it lands: did the book leave you feeling tender toward your own younger, more hopeless-crush self, or did it ask you to forgive that self for something? Share only as much as you want.
By the last pages, did the story feel like a warm hand on your shoulder or a door closing softly in another room? Describe the feeling it left in the house afterward, not the events.