Beyond the Darkness

Part 2

Yuki's POV

I had always known there was something different about her—my best friend. She was the funniest, most carefree person I'd ever met, always lifting everyone's spirits, mine included. Whenever I felt pressure from volleyball or the weight of expectations, she'd show up with a dumb joke, a goofy smile, or a ridiculous story that would make me forget everything for a while.

I never once thought that behind that smile, there was something dark, something she was keeping from me.

She left me alone in her room to rummage through the kitchen like she always did. I sprawled out on her bed, feeling comfortable in the space I'd known my entire life. As I stretched, something caught my eye—a slightly open drawer by the bedside. I didn't mean to invade her privacy. It wasn't like me to snoop, but something tugged at me to look.

I noticed a small, leather-bound notebook sitting on top. Curiosity got the best of me.

At first, I thought it was a simple journal—maybe random thoughts, stories she wrote. After all, she loved writing. But as I flipped through the pages, the words hit me like a brick wall.

"I don't know how long I can keep doing this."

"Why can't I be happy? What's wrong with me?"

"Every time I think it's the end, he texts me. Yuki. He doesn't even know how many times he's saved me without realizing it. But how long can I hold on just for him?"

My chest tightened. What... was this? Was she talking about me? I flipped to the next page, my hands shaking now.

"Sometimes I wonder if people would even notice if I wasn't around anymore. If I just disappeared."

No. No, this couldn't be real. This couldn't be her.

But the handwriting, the voice in the words—it was her. This was my best friend. My jolly, happy best friend, the one who always made everyone laugh, who always checked on everyone else. She was the glue that held us together, and yet here she was, breaking apart.

My heart pounded in my chest as I kept reading, the words turning darker with each page. She wrote about her depression, about how she'd been hiding it for years. She wrote about her moments of despair, her thoughts of giving up, and how she felt like she couldn't tell anyone.

Why didn't you tell me? I thought, my mind racing. I was right here. I've always been right here.

I felt like my entire world was crumbling. She had been suffering in silence this whole time, and I hadn't even noticed. I was so wrapped up in my own life—volleyball, traveling, interviews, training—that I never once saw through her mask.

She mentioned me so many times in the diary. I was the one person who unknowingly kept her going. My random texts, my stupid jokes—they were the only things pulling her back from the edge. And yet, I never knew. I never once thought she needed saving.

The guilt washed over me like a tidal wave. How could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen how much she was struggling?

I could barely breathe.

As I sat there with her diary in my hands, I realized just how much I had failed her. My best friend. The one person who had always been there for me, through every win and every loss, through every high and every low. And I couldn't even see that she was drowning.

I could hear her footsteps coming back from the kitchen, but I couldn't move. My throat tightened as the pages blurred in front of me, my vision clouded by tears. I heard her gasp as she entered the room.

"Yuki..." Her voice was small, afraid.

I didn't look up. I couldn't. I stared down at the open diary, feeling the weight of every word she'd written.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I finally whispered, my voice cracking. I lifted my head slowly, meeting her wide, tear-filled eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were going through this?"

She looked at me like a deer caught in headlights, her hands trembling by her sides. "I didn't want to—"

"To what? Worry me?" I interrupted, my voice louder than I intended. "You think volleyball matters more to me than you? You think I wouldn't drop everything for you? You're my best friend."

Tears slid down her cheeks, and I couldn't hold it back anymore. I stood up, crossing the room in an instant, pulling her into my arms. I could feel her shaking against me, and I just held her tighter.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against my chest. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You're not a burden." My voice was raw, full of emotion. "You're never a burden. I should've seen it. I should've known you weren't okay."

For the first time, I felt powerless. Here I was, a professional volleyball player, someone who was supposed to be strong, capable of handling anything—and yet I had missed the most important thing in the world. I had missed the fact that the person I cared about most was in pain.

As we stood there, the diary still open on the bed, I made a silent promise to myself. I would never let her feel like she was alone again. I would be there, truly be there for her, no matter what.

She had been fighting this battle alone for too long.

But not anymore.