Beyond the Darkness

Part 3

Training that day felt off. I could tell the coach noticed my lack of focus, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he thought it was just exhaustion catching up. Normally, volleyball was my escape—something I could always count on to clear my head. But not today.

Ever since I read her diary, things haven't felt the same. The weight of knowing what she'd been going through was always at the back of my mind. No matter how hard I tried to focus on practice, I couldn't shake the anxiety building in my chest.

As I went through the motions of the drills, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it at first, thinking it was probably some random update or message. But something about it lingered in the back of my mind. I paused and reached for my phone, glancing at the screen.

A single message.

"Yuki, I'm sorry."

For a split second, everything around me stopped. My heart dropped into my stomach, and the court seemed to blur around me.

"I'm sorry."

No. No, no, no.

My hands started to shake as I called her immediately. I pressed the phone to my ear, desperate for her voice, for anything, but all I got was the cold, repetitive sound of the call not connecting.

Her phone was off.

"Yuki, you okay?" one of my teammates called out, noticing I wasn't moving.

I couldn't answer. My mind raced a mile a minute, panic rising in my chest. I tossed my phone back into my bag, grabbed my things, and ran out of the gym without a word.

I had to get to her.

The drive to her apartment felt like the longest in my life. Every red light, every slow car felt like torture. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white, my mind racing through a thousand worst-case scenarios.

Why didn't I check on her earlier? Why did I let her stay by herself after what I read in that diary?

Please, just be okay. Please be okay.

When I finally pulled up to her building, I didn't even bother to park properly. I left the car haphazardly by the curb and sprinted toward her apartment. My breath was shallow, panic clouding my vision as I fumbled with the spare key she had given me long ago.

I pushed the door open, calling out her name.

Silence.

My heart pounded in my ears as I rushed inside. Everything looked normal at first glance—her shoes were by the door, her bag hung on the hook—but there was a stillness that felt... wrong.

"Hana?" I called out, my voice shaking as I walked toward the kitchen.

And then I saw her.

She was lying on the floor, near the kitchen counter, her body limp and pale.

My heart stopped.

"Hana!" I screamed, running to her side. I dropped to my knees, shaking her gently, desperately. "Hana, please, wake up. Wake up!"

She didn't respond.

My hands shook as I checked her pulse, my fingers trembling against her cold skin. She was breathing, but it was weak, shallow. I grabbed my phone and dialed for an ambulance, my voice frantic as I tried to stay calm enough to explain the situation.

"Hana, come on, stay with me," I whispered, cradling her in my arms. I couldn't lose her. I wouldn't lose her.

The minutes felt like hours as I held her, my mind racing with guilt, panic, and fear. How could I have let this happen? I knew she was struggling, I knew—and yet, I wasn't there. I should have been here. I should have checked on her more, pushed harder, done something.