My Tokyo Summer

I finished *My Tokyo Summer* with the kind of satisfied grin you get after discovering a new indie band you can’t stop playing on repeat. The story’s real strength lies in how Denson lets the friendship between Abby and Yuuko breathe—no rushed meet-cutes, no forced drama, just two girls bonding over art, music, and the weirdness of being young and hungry for something real. My only gripe? I wanted *more* of their exchanges. A few letters felt like teasers, leaving me hungry for deeper dives into their creative quirks. The pacing, though, is perfect—like flipping through a zine you can’t put down, with just enough white space to let your imagination run wild. The narration (when I finally heard it) leans into the text’s playful, tactile vibe, sounding like a friend reading you their favorite letter over a cup of bad diner coffee. It’s not flashy, but it’s *right*—the audio equivalent of doodling in the margins while you listen. If you’ve ever sent a letter or a mixtape to someone who changed your life, this one’s for you.