Holding on to Yushi || Tokuno Yushi

Chapter Three

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Yoora's room, but it did little to brighten her mood. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone as if it were a lifeline to a world she could no longer reach. The ache of loss nestled deep in her chest, a constant reminder of Yushi’s absence. She forced herself to get up, put on a brave face, and tackle the day ahead. School awaited, with its classes and friends who were blissfully unaware of the storm raging within her.

As she shuffled through her morning routine, Yoora caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The girl staring back at her was familiar yet foreign—her eyes were dull, her smile strained. The vibrant energy she once radiated had dimmed, replaced by an invisible weight. She brushed her hair absentmindedly, wishing she could brush away the pain too. But as she applied her makeup, she reminded herself of Yushi’s voice during their last call: “You deserve to be happy.”

The echoes of his encouragement clung to her as she walked into school. She tried to engage with her friends, forcing herself to laugh at their jokes and smile at their stories, but her mind always drifted back to Yushi. They chatted about weekend plans and upcoming exams, but all she could think of was the montage she had started to create.

During lunch, Yoora found a quiet corner, pulling out her phone to revisit the photos she had gathered. Each image was a snapshot of joy, frozen moments of laughter and shared experiences. She swiped through them, her heart heavy yet filled with determination. It was time to channel her grief into something meaningful. With each photo, she envisioned a story—one that celebrated their relationship while acknowledging the pain of their separation.

Later that evening, after finishing her homework, Yoora sat at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating her face. She downloaded video editing software, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with anxiety. Would she be able to do this? She recalled the last time she attempted anything creative—it had ended in frustration and tears. But this was different; this was for Yushi.

As the program loaded, she took a deep breath and began organizing the photos she had saved. The first image was of them at the amusement park, their faces alight with joy, hair tousled by the wind. She could almost hear their laughter echoing in her ears. She added another photo of their last picnic together—sunshine dappling through the trees, the taste of strawberries sweet on their lips, and the warmth of each other’s presence surrounding them.

But as she delved deeper into the project, the memories began to overwhelm her. She stumbled upon a video clip of them dancing at a friend’s party, completely lost in the moment, surrounded by friends. The joy of the memory collided with the harsh reality of Yushi’s absence, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She paused, her chest tightening. This was harder than she had anticipated.

In the days that followed, Yoora poured herself into the montage. Every spare moment was spent sifting through memories, but the deeper she ventured, the heavier the burden of grief became. She felt a growing distance between herself and her friends, who began to notice her withdrawal.

“Yoora, are you okay?” Jihae asked one afternoon, concern etched on her face as they walked to class. “You’ve been really quiet lately.”

“I’m fine,” Yoora replied too quickly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on her lips. “Just busy with schoolwork.”

Jihae frowned but didn’t press further, leaving Yoora to grapple with her isolation. Her friends continued to invite her out, but she turned them down, unable to explain the shadow that loomed over her. Each invitation was a reminder of what she was missing, of laughter and connection that felt increasingly out of reach.

When she returned home that evening, the weight of her thoughts pressed heavily on her. Sitting at her desk, she stared at her phone, remembering Yushi’s voice during their last call. He had sounded so alive, so vibrant. But the more she worked on the montage, the more her grief consumed her.

Determined to keep their connection alive, she dialed Yushi’s number, her heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. When he answered, she felt the familiar warmth wash over her.

“Yoora! How’s the video coming along?” His voice was like a balm, soothing her frayed nerves.

“It’s… it’s going. I’m trying to make it special,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“I’m sure it will be amazing,” he encouraged. “Tell me about it.”

Yoora hesitated, unsure of how to share the depths of her emotions. “I’ve been looking through our photos. It’s hard, you know? Some of them make me so happy, but then… I remember you’re not here anymore.”

Yushi’s tone shifted, a hint of sadness creeping in. “I know it’s painful, but remember the love we shared. It’s still there, Yoora. It’s okay to feel sad, but don’t let it consume you.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “But I feel so lost without you. Everything reminds me of you.”

“Just focus on the good memories. It’s okay to grieve, but don’t forget to celebrate what we had, too.” His words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the bond they shared.

“I will,” she promised, her voice steadier. “I want to honor our time together. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“Then keep going,” he urged. “You’ve got this.”

After hanging up, Yoora felt a renewed sense of determination. With the phone in her hand, she stared at the screen, feeling the flicker of hope. She wasn’t alone in her grief—Yushi was with her in spirit, urging her to keep moving forward.

The next day, she returned to her project with renewed vigor. She meticulously edited each clip, adding transitions and effects, breathing life into the memories. The process felt cathartic, each moment of creation helping to ease the weight in her chest. She chose a song that had always been special to them, one that resonated with their laughter and love.

As she worked late into the night, Yoora felt a shift within herself. The montage was more than a tribute; it was a journey through her grief, a pathway toward healing. With every photo and every clip, she was not only preserving Yushi’s memory but also finding a way to navigate the overwhelming sadness that threatened to engulf her.

When she finally added the last image—a candid shot of them, arms around each other, grinning ear to ear—Yoora sat back and took a deep breath. The video was complete. She felt a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction, her heart swelling with both pride and sorrow. This was their story, one that would forever be etched in her heart.

Now, as she prepared to share the montage with Yushi during their next call, she felt a blend of excitement and anxiety. Would he love it? Would it bring him joy? She couldn’t wait to hear his reaction, to see if this tribute could somehow bridge the gap between their worlds.

As she lay in bed that night, her heart fluttered with anticipation. She had taken a significant step toward healing, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. The bond they shared was not broken; it was evolving, and she was ready to embrace whatever came next.