REACHING BEYOND THE NET

Echoes of the Past

I don't like thinking about him. But sometimes, no matter how hard I try to keep those memories buried, they come flooding back, uninvited. Today is one of those days.

It's strange how memories work, how they can suddenly grip you out of nowhere. One minute, I'm standing in front of the mirror, trying to straighten out my tie, and the next, I'm back in that apartment, reliving moments I wish I could forget.

Atsumu.

He was the kind of person you couldn't ignore. Tall, confident, and devastatingly handsome, Atsumu Miya had an aura that drew people in effortlessly. His bleached blonde hair was always perfectly styled, his smile so charming that it could make anyone's heart skip a beat. I remember the first time I saw him, the way my breath caught in my throat as he strode onto the court, all eyes on him. He was magnetic, and I was no exception to his pull.

We met during a regional volleyball tournament. I was in awe of him—his skill, his presence, the way he commanded attention without even trying. When he started paying attention to me, it felt surreal, like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. He would compliment me on my jumps, tease me about my height in a way that felt playful at first. I didn't see the darkness behind his smile, not then.

In the beginning, everything seemed perfect. He was attentive, always making sure I felt included, always showering me with praise. I felt special, like I was someone worth noticing. Atsumu had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, like nothing else mattered but you. It was intoxicating.

But as time went on, things started to change. The teasing became sharper, the compliments rarer. He began to criticize my height more openly, telling me I'd never be a real player because of it. At first, I laughed it off, thinking he was just joking, but the words started to sting. They burrowed into my mind, feeding insecurities I had tried so hard to bury.

I remember one night, after a particularly rough practice, we were back at his place. I was sitting on the couch, exhausted, my legs aching from hours of drills. Atsumu was pacing the room, his mood darker than usual. I could tell something was bothering him, but I didn't dare ask. He had been irritable all day, and I didn't want to make it worse.

"What's wrong with you, Shoyo?" he snapped suddenly, stopping in front of me. "You're dragging the team down with your weak jumps. Can't you try harder?"

His words cut deep, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I'm doing my best, Atsumu. It's just been a tough day."

"Your best isn't good enough!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "You're nothing but a liability out there, a short joke on the court. Do you even realize how much of a burden you are?"

I flinched at his harsh words, but I couldn't muster the strength to fight back. I had started to believe him, started to think that maybe he was right. Maybe I was a burden. Maybe I wasn't good enough.

Atsumu didn't stop there. He continued to berate me, picking apart every aspect of my game, my appearance, even my personality. I sat there, silent, taking it all in, letting his words wash over me like a tide of poison. I didn't understand why he was doing this, why the person who had once made me feel so special was now tearing me apart.

It wasn't until later that night, after Atsumu had gone to bed, that I allowed myself to break down. I curled up on the couch, my body shaking with silent sobs, my mind racing with self-doubt. I wanted to leave, to walk out the door and never look back, but something kept me there. A twisted sense of loyalty, maybe, or the fear of being alone. I didn't know anymore.

Osamu, Atsumu's twin brother, had seen everything. He had been there in the apartment, lingering in the shadows, watching as Atsumu unleashed his anger on me. But he didn't say a word. He never did. Osamu was the quieter of the two, more reserved, more level-headed. But when it came to his brother, he was silent. I often wondered if he was afraid, too, or if he simply didn't know how to intervene.

There were moments when I caught Osamu looking at me with something akin to pity, his gray eyes filled with an unspoken apology. He knew what was happening wasn't right, but he never said anything. And neither did I. It was as if we had both accepted that this was just how things were, that there was no escaping it.

I don't know how long I stayed in that relationship, how long I let Atsumu's words and actions chip away at my self-worth. It all blurred together after a while, the days blending into one long, painful stretch of time. But eventually, something in me snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out, had to find a way to reclaim the parts of myself that Atsumu had taken from me.

Leaving wasn't easy. It took everything I had to walk away, to finally put myself first. But even now, years later, the scars remain. They're not as visible as they once were, but they're still there, reminders of a time when I lost myself to someone else's cruelty.

And yet, despite everything, I survived. I found a way to move forward, to rebuild the pieces of myself that had been shattered. But the memories still haunt me, creeping up when I least expect them. They're a part of me, a part of my story, whether I like it or not.

As I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie, I try to push those memories back into the recesses of my mind. I have a new life now, a chance at something better. But I know I can't run from the past forever. All I can do is try to learn from it, to remind myself that I'm stronger than I once was.

And maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that the future holds something brighter. Something—someone—who sees me for who I am, not for what I lack. Someone who can help me finally leave the shadows of the past behind.