To be honest, I felt renting a girlfriend just to watch a movie together was kinda “not worth it.”

I used to think someone like Liang Zhiming—who had zero demands for a rented girlfriend and even went out of his way to “flatter” her—was already pretty wild. Working with him felt easy enough. But this gig with Lu Yun? Even less effort than any before.

After all, watching a movie… required almost no skill.

*Your Name.* was a classic anime; plenty of people had seen it, so no ticket scramble. Lu Yun booked seats dead center—the best pair in the house. With clear rules against talking or noise during the film, our chat faded after grabbing popcorn and cola in the lobby.

At most, I’d hand him the popcorn box to set the mood, then occasionally reach over for a handful and act cute.

Originally, Lu Yun planned a 7 PM showing yesterday—around 100 minutes. Movie ends ~8:40 PM, then dessert at a nearby café, a stroll, some talk. But today’s screenings all started at 7:30 PM, and I was late. By the time I arrived, the film was nearly on—so the “post-movie plans” vanished.

*Your Name.* runs 106 minutes. Starting at 7:30 meant wrapping after 9 PM, credits or not. Basically, we’d part ways right after—back to our own lives.

That’s exactly why I extended the booking to 10 PM.

I was getting paid. I’d been late. Compensating the boss was only fair.

But… Lu Yun didn’t seem to mind at all.

Just as he said—he really had minimal expectations for a rented girlfriend.

“Have you seen this movie before?”

“Hmm… I know a bit. Body-swapping, right? School romance with a touch of fantasy.”

No couple seats here—each chair stood alone. Made it impossible to “get closer” to the boss while watching.

“So a boy and girl swap bodies? A friend said it’s a love story—I didn’t expect that twist.”

“It is a romance.”

“Oh… Wait, your milky scent seems stronger now.”

“That’s the popcorn! Buttery popcorn!”

“…”

For over an hour, Lu Yun barely spoke.

Only when I reached across to grab snacks—fulfilling my “rented girlfriend” duty by offering him a few kernels—would he turn and smile gently at me.

Also, his outfit today gave off such a soft, puppy-like vibe. Didn’t quite match my style.

My hospital-measured height was 163 cm. For girls in Guiyuan Province, that’s on the shorter side—not exactly “goddess” tier. Lu Yun’s height, though, fit most local dating preferences perfectly. In a sharp shirt and trousers, he’d scream “handsome boyfriend.” Yet this nearly 180 cm guy wore…

“The world is trying to break me.”

“If the gods truly exist… I don’t even know what wish to make.”

“No matter where you are in this world… I will find you again.”

“…”

*Your Name.*’s plot is simple: boy and girl sporadically swap bodies across timelines. Memories of each other fade with time. That seemingly shaky setup becomes the emotional core—the “heart-tugging” hook—leading to their reunion and recovered memories.

Yet thanks to masterful atmosphere, brilliant cinematography, and perfectly timed music, so many scenes felt deeply moving.

Especially how it wove faith, culture, everyday family bonds, and friendship into its emotional tapestry.

“Um!”

“I feel like I’ve met you somewhere before.”

“Me too!”

“What’s your name?”

The film ended with that stairway exchange. Screen froze on a vast blue sky as the theme song swelled.

“Finally over.”

“Ugh… so heartbreaking. I’m crying.”

“Really? I thought it was sweet.”

As the crowd stood to leave, Lu Yun glanced at me. “How’d you like it?”

Though I’d seen it before, maybe my current female body was just more prone to tears—my eyes were damp. “It was… really good.”

“Pfft…”

Lu Yun suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny!” I huffed. “It *was* good!”

Truth is, I knew gender swaps inside out.

When I first woke up in this world—trapped in a girl’s body—I fumbled in the hospital restroom just like the film’s characters.

Time passed. I adapted. Curiosity faded. But daily life still held tiny reminders of this body’s quirks.

Like now: sitting in black sheer pantyhose and a skirt, clutching an empty cola bottle, tears blurring my vision.

I knew every beat. Every emotional cue. Yet when the screen held that blue sky and the credits rolled… I still couldn’t hold back.

It hit me: this body didn’t always obey my will.

“Heading home now?”

Lu Yun sidestepped my question, voice softening. “First time using Hua Li Mao—what do I do after time’s up? Leave a review? Confirm payment? Does money transfer automatically?”

“Oh, no need.” I stood quickly, pulling out my phone and quietly opening the voice recorder. “We agreed until 10 PM—we still have an hour!”

Lu Yun shook his head firmly. “It’s not safe for you to go home alone that late.”

10 PM? Not late at all.

Back in my past life, pulling all-nighters until 3 or 4 AM was routine.

“Well…” Seeing his resolve, I relented. “Tomorrow’s makeup session—same place?”

“You’re really doing it?”

“Yep! I canceled unilaterally. Compensation’s only fair.”

Emergencies happen—family stuff, lateness. Hard to avoid. I just wanted to keep service smooth so Lu Yun wouldn’t report to the platform.

Not that he seemed like the type. But better safe than sorry.

I learned that the hard way delivering food once: heavy rain, delayed order, five minutes late. Customer smiled, said “no problem.” Ten minutes later—glowing one-star review. Platform docked my pay hard.

“Alright.” The cinema had nearly emptied. Lu Yun paused. “Watch a movie again tomorrow?”

“You decide!” I made a silly face. “You’re the boss. Whatever you say goes.”

“I…” He scratched his head, flustered. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Think it over tonight.”

“Sure. But… you have other bookings tomorrow?” Walking toward the exit, he hesitated. “When I tried booking you earlier, it said three reservations for this slot. Getting you depended on your choice.”

“I do. But I can cancel them all.” I smiled. “Since it’s compensation, no need to book through Hua Li Mao tomorrow. Just call me.”

“This feels awkward… 100 yuan for two days…”

“Not two full days!” I switched to playful. “Since the boss feels guilty—be extra nice to me tomorrow!”

“You really are versatile. Mimic any personality…”

“This is my true self.”

“I believe you.”

“Because it is!”

“…”

Passing a claw machine in the lobby, I found myself oddly drawn to a plush rabbit inside.

Huh?

When did cinemas add claw machines? New couple-trap scheme?

“Want that one?”

Lu Yun noticed my glance instantly. Stopped. Pulled out his phone. “Worked on the dock bridge before—I’m good at these.”

“Ah, no!” I shook my head. “Just curious when they put this here. Thought these were only in arcades.”

“Most cinemas in Xiangcao City have them.” He scanned the QR code. “Which one? I’ll get it in three tries. Guaranteed.”

His sudden seriousness made me laugh. “You… sure about this?”

Part of me wanted to say: our rental’s over. I’m not your real girlfriend. No need to stay in character.

“We barely talked during the movie,” Lu Yun scratched his head, slightly embarrassed. “I think… relationships go both ways. You let me feel what having a girlfriend’s like… so I should treat you like one. Isn’t that right?”

He kept his head turned away while saying it—probably feeling a little cringey himself.

Lobby lights slanted from behind him, highlighting the clean, gentle line of his right profile.

Uh…

I tilted my head up, momentarily speechless.

“Well…” After a quiet struggle, I turned and pointed.

“I want that rabbit—the Yoshino-style plushie.”