Love Begins in the World of If drew me in from the first scene and carried me into a suspended, almost enchanted world where every detail feels attuned to the heart. Adapted from Sachi Umino’s novel – a writer with a rare gift for portraying love that feels vivid, grounded, and emotionally sincere – this Japanese BL drama offers a breath of fresh air to anyone seeking stories that move past the surface.

Hariu Yuji’s direction reflects a refined and attentive approach: each scene unfolds with intention, without haste or excess, and silence becomes a vessel for feeling rather than an empty pause. Hidekazu Sakamoto’s score deepens this atmosphere, shaping a dreamlike glow that draws the viewer inward. Since 21 November, the series has been streaming on Viki.

In less than thirty minutes, the opening chapter sketches out a full emotional landscape and grants a clear sense of the characters’ inner worlds. We meet a reserved protagonist (Kotaro Daigo, in his first BL role) and a colleague who seems distant and out of reach (Daisuke Nakagawa), yet the story gives every moment room to breathe, revealing layers of tension and tenderness. The attention to psychology and visual design stands out.

From the outset, the camera places us in Kano’s perspective: he walks through the office corridors, filmed from behind, his face withheld. This choice mirrors his emotional state: present, yet always on the margins of other people’s attention. He remains out of reach for us, just as he does for colleagues who overlook him or clients who never meet his gaze. Only when the camera reveals his face do we enter his inner world and sense the quiet weight of his isolation.

Paradoxically, this invisibility exposes his most intriguing qualities. Kano works with care and competence, but his environment offers no real space for his abilities. His skill fades into the background, and this slow erosion leaves him adrift, far from a sense of belonging and close to losing sight of himself.

One aspect that makes the series strikingly relevant, and sets it apart from most office romances, is its portrayal of workplace alienation. Kano embodies a generation caught between high expectations and a deep hunger for authenticity. His invisibility echoes the experience of many young adults in Japan (and beyond), who navigate professional settings that reward confidence and standout performance while leaving quieter personalities on the sidelines. In this sense, the story recalls the mood of Haruki Murakami’s fiction, where urban solitude and quiet disorientation shape entire worlds.

Ogami, introduced as the office’s “ace of sales,” emerges with far greater nuance. Through Kano’s insecurity, he appears distant and immaculate, but his actions reveal a different presence: gentle guidance, measured words, and a steadiness that comforts without intruding. Kano has trouble trusting this warmth and interprets it as distance, feeling unworthy or fearing a gap that exists only in his imagination. The series plays with these dual perceptions, one anchored in fact, the other shaped by Kano’s hesitant gaze.

From the second episode forward, the narrative opens a door to possibility: what if, one morning, we woke in a version of our life where insecurity no longer dictated our steps and relationships unfolded with ease? In this alternate “world of If,” Kano enters a different emotional realm, marked by warmth, genuine connection with those around him, and unexpected gestures. Even Ogami appears open and affectionate, as he offers moments of sweetness that made my heart soar, a special thrill for anyone who enjoys their height difference. This parallel space becomes an emotional laboratory where Kano glimpses the person he could become once freed from fear.

The series uses a tranquil blue-grey palette that heightens both melancholy and hope, while the cinematography and editing transform small details – coffee, macarons, a hand drifting through someone’s hair – into tender celebrations of intimacy. The pace follows a soft, contemplative rhythm, almost a wistful slice-of-life, granting the characters’ emotions the time they need to unfold and allowing us to absorb their depth.

Without turning into a lesson, the drama touches on the vulnerability of queer people in Japanese workplaces, where individuality often struggles for air. Kano’s uncertainty, his fragile attempts to read others, and his emotional precariousness form a portrait that feels honest and delicate: a person out of place not only as an employee or an individual, but also as someone searching for a corner of happiness.

The story favors open questions over tidy resolutions, leaving us in a gentle state of suspense that invites reflection (“What awaits the other Kano?”, “How ideal is this alternate world?”, “How long can it last?”). It hints that the real transformation must grow from within. The “world of If” becomes a metaphor for possibility, reinvention, and the decision to believe in one’s own capacity for love.

I sense that love in this story will emerge in its purest form once Kano approaches himself, and the world, without the filters shaped by insecurity or old wounds. This is the aspect I cherish most: the show resists spectacle and instead explores the slow labor and personal triumph of self-understanding. To be seen – fully seen – becomes possible.

I recommend this drama to anyone drawn to intimate coming-of-age stories, gentle melancholy, the poetry of small moments, and the charm of a romance that glimmers through shy smiles, lingering glances, and that spark of connection when two hands brush beneath a desk.

If the series maintains this balance between introspection, tenderness, and emotional truth, Love Begins in the World of If stands poised to become one of the most refined and captivating Japanese BL dramas of recent years.

Rating- 4 out of 5

Streaming on- Gagaoolala