Beyond the Darkness

Part 1

From the outside, my life appeared perfect. I had friends, a supportive family, and most importantly, Yuki Ishikawa—my childhood best friend and one of Japan's top volleyball players. Yuki had always been the star, the boy who could make anyone smile, and I was his sidekick, the jolly, funny one. That was the role I had played for years. And I played it well.

"You're always so happy," Yuki would say, flashing his signature grin. "You make life easier for everyone."

He didn't know that I was fighting an invisible battle every single day.

I would laugh at his jokes, throw back witty comments, and everyone believed the persona I carefully crafted. The jester. The lighthearted one. But inside, there was a growing darkness, a weight I carried in secret. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long I could keep up the act. Every day felt like a fight for survival, not in the literal sense, but an emotional and mental war against myself.

I didn't know how to explain it to anyone, not even to Yuki—the person who knew me better than anyone else. So, I stayed silent. And to deal with the pain, I started writing. I wrote down every dark thought, every moment of despair, every time I thought about giving up.

My diary became the only place where I could be honest.

Every time I felt like I was on the brink of giving up, something would happen—Yuki would send me a random text.

"Yo! Just landed in Osaka! This gym is amazing, you have to see it!"

Or, "Guess what? I tried to cook dinner tonight and totally burned the rice. I'll leave the cooking to you next time."

They were silly messages, often about nothing in particular, but they were enough. I couldn't count how many times I had been sitting on my bed, staring at a bottle of pills or thinking about the knife in the kitchen drawer, and then Yuki would text. I would glance at my phone, see his name, and for some reason, it was enough to stop me. To make me put the pills back, or walk away from the kitchen.

It was strange how Yuki, without even knowing it, saved me over and over again.

But I still didn't tell him.

I didn't want to burden him. He was already so busy with his volleyball career, traveling for games, training, interviews. He didn't need me adding to his stress. So, I kept everything hidden behind my jolly mask, and whenever Yuki was in town, I made sure to keep up the act. I was the happy, carefree best friend—the one who was always okay.

The diary was becoming more than just a place to unload my thoughts. It became a record of my survival. Page after page, I poured out my heart—my darkest thoughts, the feelings of worthlessness, and the overwhelming sadness that gripped me every day.

Why can't I be normal? Why can't I just be happy?

I wrote about how I felt like a fraud around my friends, pretending to be okay while I was crumbling inside. I wrote about how every smile felt like a lie, how I was tired of pretending. And I wrote about Yuki—how his texts always seemed to come at the right moment, how they kept me tethered to the world, even if he didn't realize it.

It became a habit, every night before bed, to write in my diary. It was my way of processing everything, of holding on for just one more day.

But despite that, I couldn't shake the feeling that my time was running out.

Yuki was in town for a few days between games, and as usual, he dropped by my place. He had a key to my apartment, something we had agreed on years ago when we were still teenagers. I didn't mind; Yuki had always been more like family than a friend.

"Yo! You home?" he called out as he stepped into my apartment, kicking off his shoes.

I was in my room, sitting at my desk with my diary open in front of me. My heart leaped at the sound of his voice, and I quickly closed the diary, shoving it into a drawer.

"Yeah, I'm here," I replied, standing up as he entered the room.

Yuki grinned at me, his usual playful self. "I'm starving! Got anything to eat?"

I rolled my eyes, chuckling despite myself. "You're always starving. What do you want?"

He flopped down on my bed, stretching out like he owned the place. "Anything. I'm easy to please."

I headed to the kitchen, leaving him in my room. It wasn't until I had started rummaging through the fridge that I realized I had left the drawer where I kept my diary slightly open. My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly dropped the carton of milk I was holding. I hurried back to my room, but it was too late.

Yuki was sitting on the edge of my bed, the diary in his hands, a serious expression on his face. My stomach dropped.

"You wrote all this?" he asked quietly, flipping through the pages. He didn't look at me.

"Yuki, I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was a tremble in it. He set the diary down on the bed and looked at me, his eyes full of hurt. "Why didn't you tell me how you were feeling?"

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "I didn't want to worry you. You've got so much going on with volleyball, and—"

"I don't care about that," Yuki interrupted, standing up. "You're my best friend. I would've dropped everything if I knew you were going through this."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't wanted to hurt him, but seeing the pain in his eyes now made me realize how much I had underestimated our bond.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.

Yuki closed the distance between us and pulled me into a tight hug. "Don't apologize," he said, his voice soft. "Just... don't shut me out. You don't have to carry this alone."