Toradora’s third episode opens with cherry blossoms blooming in sunlight, their petals shaking free and dancing in the breeze. A bright blue sky and the sounds of birds chirping complement the petals, leading into Taiga yawning as she wipes the sleep from her eyes. Every element of this episode’s first moments convey a firm sense of rebirth and growth, a new beginning. After the torrential drama of the show’s first two episodes, Toradora has at last established its neutral mode, leading Taiga and Ryuji through calamitous confessions to arrive at an honest, genuine friendship. Ryuji and Taiga are no longer “partners in crime” or otherwise forced to share space; they’re just friends, and so they hang out.

As I’ve likely already repeated to the point of tedium, this direct embracing of casual, unconditional friendship is Toradora’s not-so-secret weapon. Toradora isn’t a show about people who hate each other, but are forced by circumstances to eventually come to respect each other – it’s a romance about people who pretty much start out already enjoying each other’s company. In spite of Taiga being one of the signature characters of Rie Kugimiya’s reign as tsundere queen, Taiga possesses very little of the exaggerated reticence of characters like Shana or Louise; she isn’t afraid to share her feelings, and it’s very clear in both their comments and actions that Taiga and Ryuji value each other’s company.

It’s frankly a little maddening to me that so many romances seem resistant to embracing this style, since romances built out of genuine, immediate rapports offer so many narrative and emotional benefits. If you construct a romance out of a series of misunderstandings, or through people being unhappily forced to share space, you fail to capitalize on not just how naturally rewarding it is to see characters enjoying each other’s company, but also miss out on the most natural route to convincing, rewarding romance in a narrative sense. The most memorable romances aren’t fated loves that must fight to reach each other, or squabbling enemies who suddenly love each other – the best romances are the ones where you get to see all the endearing steps along the way, like Spice and Wolf or Katangatari. Stories often frame romance as a beat in a narrative – the characters arrive here, then Romance Happens, then we move on to something else. But romance itself is a journey, an adventure, and it becomes both more satisfying and more convincing the more you’re able to illustrate those wobbly, circuitous, endlessly charming steps along the way.

Though Ryuji and Taiga’s dynamic here is still ultimately confrontational, it’s clear that at this point they’re used to this sort of friendly bickering. The two of them don’t actually have that much in common yet, so they play to their strengths; Ryuji’s personality so far is “loves cleaning and is deeply insecure about his looks,” while Taiga is still “extremely proud and confrontational gremlin,” so Ryuji sets up a pitch and Taiga strikes it back. The only real point of awkwardness is Toradora’s persistent reliance on farcical slapstick – “girls express spunkiness through punching guys” was accepted anime shorthand in 2008, but having largely escaped that trope on the whole, it strikes an emotionally discordant note here without really conveying much in an emotional sense. Thus is the curse of tropes which are bad – they’ll simply be bad in their own cultural moment, but removed from that, they’re both bad and dramatically incoherent.

While Ryuji and Taiga’s growing friendship is illustrated through the incidental conversations throughout this episode, the show’s approach to Minori is much more direct. Literally overwhelming their conversation through the force of her warm-up cheers, Minori’s voice draws the camera up to the baseball diamond, reflecting both Minori’s staggering aura and the very public nature of school activities. Minori is practically glowing with energy at all times, and this softball practice is no exception – watching her gleefully run the bases, it’s easy to see what Ryuji sees in her.

That’s the point, of course. Ryuji’s “relationship” with Minori is actually the more standard romantic model – a story based around pining for your idealized version of a person, with none of the nitty-gritty bickering and mutual trust of Ryuji and Taiga’s bond. This sequence’s demonstration of Minori as Ryuji sees her makes his feelings simultaneously more understandable and more artificial; understandable in that it’s easy to see what attracts him to her, and artificial in that it’s also clear he’s worshiping an ideal, not a person. On a first watch, the immediate takeaway here is “Minori is dazzling, I can see why Ryuji loves her” – only context centers this sequence on Taiga’s response, as she pinpoints the game Ryuji is playing.

Fortunately, even if Ryuji isn’t truly interested in humanizing Minori, Toradora certainly is. That falling cherry blossom petal carries us through to the next scene, where the relentlessly public nature of school once again facilitates some natural conversations between our leads. These conversations aren’t really about anything plot-related, but they do wonderful work in fleshing out these characters individually and their relationship collectively. This sequence also offers a buffet of expressive Ryuji faces, demonstrating that while his face is theoretically supposed to convey menace, his unusually small-pupiled eyes actually just make him seem vulnerable.

Ryuji’s feelings are transparent both in his expressions and in this episode’s close focus on his headspace, but Taiga plays her cards a little closer to the vest. Though she’s full of angry bluster at the slightest provocation, when the family’s rice cooker breaks down, she leads Ryuji to a diner where she knowns Minori works. Even there, though she acts grumpy throughout, she pointedly prods Minori with questions that both keep the conversation going and let Ryuji learn more about his crush. Taiga would never admit it, but she spends this whole episode being an incredibly diligent supporter of Ryuji’s feelings, even when it demands sacrifice of her own.

At first, Ryuji is incapable of truly appreciating this gift. Walking back from the diner, he speculates that “maybe there’s a reason she needs to work so many jobs,” wondering whether she might have a sickly mother or some other heartbreaking personal story. And in response, Taiga immediately calls him out on this, berating him for making assumptions and essentially inventing the Minori he wants to believe in. Considering Minori is likely Taiga’s only friend, her words come off as both a natural defense of a valued friend and also one more expression of Taiga’s hatred for emotional cowardice. Ryuji’s focus on preconceptions and inconsequential artifice gets Taiga mad, but she pretty much always responds with genuine, solid advice.

Taiga’s unappreciated support efforts culminate in her getting roped into delivery work so Ryuji can spend time flirting with her friend. There’s a battery of tiny rewards scattered all throughout this finale sequence, from this wonderful procession of faces telling an entire story of frustration, renewed determination, and defeat, to the utterly believable awkwardness of Ryuji attempting a conversation with Minori without Taiga there to mediate. And in the end, this finale ends with both of our leads face-to-face and alone with their crushes; Taiga and Kitamura out by the riverbank, Minori and Ryuji locked in a supply shed.

On Taiga’s side, her meeting with Kitamura reflects how she’s ultimately not so different from Ryuji. Taiga is able to hear a line as unambiguous as “I spent a lot of time watching you last year” and parse it simply as an expression of friendliness, Kitamura’s general honesty. To be honest, a line like that strikes me as incredibly cowardly, theoretical creepiness aside – it’s basically a resigned confession-concession, designed to be half-heard and misunderstood. But the Kitamura Taiga idolizes is honest and friendly and strong, and so she sees those qualities in his words. Like Ryuji, Taiga admires a surface-level understanding of someone else that only reflects her own insecurities, the qualities she wishes she could possess.

But while Taiga is demonstrating she’s just as immature and insecure as Ryuji, Ryuji himself is earning just the tiniest dash of personal growth. Trapped in a shed with his fated crush, he attempts to play out that classic “you can wear my coat” dating event – but of course, this is Minori, so she instead suggests warming up through mock softball practice. Tossing a makeshift ball and swinging a liquor bottle bat, Ryuji learns that Minori’s strong face is precisely that – that she hides her insecurities with energy, and actively commits herself to “batting your fears out of the park.” Ryuji learns that his view of Minori as a naturally shining person was a misconception – Minori acts like that because she’s actively chosen to act like that, because she feels this is the best way to find her own strength. This doesn’t diminish Ryuji’s crush, though; as it turns out, when you forego flattering misconception and seek out someone’s personal truth, you’ll often find they’re even more beautiful than you imagined.

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