Shadows of Yesterday

The night after her conversation with Hana, Yuki couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind spiraling into the past. It wasn’t the first time her memories had haunted her, but tonight, they felt heavier than usual, as if they were pulling her under.

Yuki had always been hesitant—about decisions about trust, about love. She told herself it was just who she was, but deep down, she knew better. Her hesitance was a defense mechanism, a shield forged in the fire of her past.

Growing up, Yuki’s world had been a fragile one. Her parents’ relationship was a constant storm, a whirlwind of arguments and cold silences that left her feeling like a bystander in her own home. She remembered the way her father’s voice would rise, sharp and cutting, and the way her mother would retreat into herself, her silence louder than any shout.

As a child, Yuki had tried to mediate to be the bridge between them, but her efforts were always met with indifference. Eventually, she learned that staying quiet was safer, and keeping her feelings locked away was the only way to survive the chaos.

The first time she let someone in, she was fifteen. His name was Daichi, and he was the kind of person who radiated warmth. He made her laugh and listened when she spoke, and for a brief moment, she thought she had found someone who understood her. But when her parents’ divorce was finalized, and her world crumbled, Daichi disappeared. He didn’t know how to handle her grief, and instead of staying, he drifted away.

It was the first crack in her armor, and it hurt more than she could have imagined.

The years that followed were a blur of caution and distance. Yuki learned to keep people at arm’s length, to avoid letting anyone see the parts of her she didn’t want to acknowledge herself. Friendships became surface-level, and her art became her only outlet, the one place where she could pour out her emotions without fear of rejection.

But even her art carried its own weight. Her high school art teacher, Ms. Tanaka had once told her that her work was beautiful but distant, as if she were afraid to let the world see her true self. At the time, Yuki had brushed off the comment, but now, it echoed in her mind.

Hana’s words from the night before lingered, too: “I need to know that you’re in this with me. I can’t do it alone.”

Yuki knew Hana was right. She couldn’t keep hiding behind her walls forever. But the fear of being hurt again was paralyzing. What if she opened up, only to be abandoned like before? What if her vulnerability became a weapon in someone else’s hands?

The next morning, Yuki sat at her desk, her sketchpad open to a blank page. She stared at it for a long time, her pencil hovering over the paper. Finally, she began to draw.

She started with a single tree, its branches bare and reaching toward the sky. Around it, she sketched a field of jagged rocks, the ground cracked and barren. It was a reflection of how she felt inside—isolated, guarded, unyielding.

But then she added another tree, smaller and more delicate, growing close to the first. Its branches stretched toward the larger tree, their tips almost touching.

As she worked, Yuki thought about Hana, about the way she made her feel seen and understood in a way no one else ever had. She thought about the moments they had shared—the quiet walks, the laughter, the vulnerability.

And she thought about the pain of her past, the scars that still lingered.

By the time she finished the drawing, the sun was high in the sky, casting light across her desk. Yuki stared at the sketch, her heart heavy but determined.

She couldn’t change her past. She couldn’t erase the hurt or the fear that had shaped her. But maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live with it—to let it be a part of her without letting it define her.

For the first time in a long time, Yuki felt a flicker of hope. She didn’t have all the answers, and she knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But she also knew she didn’t want to face it alone.

That afternoon, she picked up her phone and sent Hana a message.

Yuki: Can we meet tomorrow? There’s something I want to talk about.

Hana’s reply came quickly.

Hana: Of course. I’ll be there.

Yuki set her phone down, her hands trembling. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to say, but she knew she had to try. For herself, for Hana, and for the chance at something more.

As the day turned to night, Yuki sat by her window, watching the city lights flicker against the darkness. For the first time in years, she felt like she was ready to take a step forward—not away from her past, but toward a future that held the possibility of healing and connection.

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