Why Love Through a Prism is this season’s quiet standout
Every now and then, an anime comes along that doesn’t just entertain you; it inspires you to the point of creation. Love Through a Prism is that kind of a show. Quiet, romantic, and unexpectedly affecting, it has slowly built a devoted audience not through spectacle, but through mood, character, and a keen understanding of why we still crave gentle, emotionally grounded love stories.
At first glance, the premise feels familiar. Lili, a young artist, leaves Japan to study painting at London’s prestigious St Thomas Art Academy and consequently meets the magnetic, mysterious Kit Church. What unfolds next is equal parts coming-of-age and art school melodrama. It’s the classic underdog setup: a new city, a new language of belonging, and the constant struggle of proving yourself against all odds. But the series refuses to rush, instead lingering on homesickness, creative doubt, and that fragile in-between where identity is still forming, and ambition feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
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Watching Lili navigate unfamiliar streets and form friendships, I couldn’t help but think of my own days as an international postgraduate student in Glasgow – learning how to belong in a place that felt both magical yet distant, finding small anchors in architecture, routine, and the beauty of creative work.
Visually, Love Through a Prism is on another level. Nearly every frame feels thoughtfully composed, as though it could be lifted and hung in a gallery. The skies stretch wide and dramatic, clouds gathering with quiet weight. Historic buildings rise in careful architectural detail. Museums glow softly in filtered light. Cobblestone streets, rolling hills, windswept beaches, and even passing animals in the background are rendered with attentive affection. The world feels expansive and alive. The art direction is not simply beautiful; it is immersive.
And it’s not only what you see. The sound design hums gently beneath the visuals, from the echo of footsteps in vast halls to the hush of open landscapes. The music never overwhelms a moment. The voice performances are understated but emotionally precise, allowing small shifts in tone to carry real weight. Even the episode lengths vary when necessary, stretching or tightening to suit the story rather than forcing it into a rigid structure. It’s a bold, confident choice, and one that quietly elevates the storytelling.
A large part of the anime’s visual richness comes from its deep affection for real places. Many of its locations are inspired by landmarks across the UK, grounding the narrative in a world that feels recognisable rather than imagined. St Thomas Art Academy bears a striking resemblance to the University of Glasgow, lending the series a sense of Gothic grandeur. Lili and Kit are often shown wandering spaces inspired by the Glasgow Necropolis and Cathedral, sketchbooks in hand, searching for inspiration among weathered stone and open sky.
Having spent afternoons walking through those same spaces, I recognised that particular quiet – the way the city feels both monumental and intimate at once. Sharp-eyed viewers will also catch echoes of Edinburgh, from the Writers’ Museum to the Scott Monument, alongside familiar corners of London slipping into the background. Beyond the cities, the pastoral calm of the Cotswolds and the sweeping landscapes of the Lake District add a softness that mirrors the emotional tone of the story. The setting feels observed, not borrowed.
The series’ central romance is one of its strongest draws. The pairing of a warm, expressive female lead with a more reserved, quietly enigmatic counterpart is a trope audiences know well and love for good reason. Here, that dynamic unfolds slowly and organically. Feelings grow through shared routines, hesitant conversations, and moments of unspoken understanding. It is a slow-burn romance built on proximity and patience rather than dramatic declarations, and that restraint makes it feel believable.
What truly deepens the experience, however, is the ensemble cast. Love Through a Prism leans into the found family trope with sincerity, surrounding its leads with characters who have their own ambitions, insecurities, and personal stakes. These are not background figures existing to support a romance; they are artists, friends, rivals, and mentors navigating their own journeys.
Over time, shared disappointments, disagreements, late-night conversations, and small acts of care bind them together into something resembling family. Chosen, imperfect, but deeply earned. That sense of found family gives the series much of its emotional warmth and keeps its more complex moments grounded.
The early 20th-century European art-school setting adds another layer of charm. The subtle tension between nobility and ordinary lives intersecting gives the narrative texture without overwhelming its emotional core. Art, in this world, becomes a social equaliser, a space where hierarchy softens, and connections are forged.
Ultimately, Love Through a Prism may not be the loudest anime of the season, but it’s one of the most heartfelt and has definitely left a lasting impression on me. In a crowded media landscape, it’s a reminder that softness, sincerity, and chosen family still matter – and that sometimes, the stories that glow the longest are the ones that speak the most gently.
Sara Kabir is a dreamer, writer, and literature lover who’s constantly juggling academia and her many creative hobbies. She currently teaches English at North South University. Find her musings on Instagram @scarletfangirl.
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