Naoki's smile, her voice, the way she used to laugh... I can't get them out of my head. It's like they're haunting me, following me wherever I go. And when I close my eyes at night, I see her face, feel her presence. It's so real, so vivid... and it hurts.
I keep thinking, if only I'd been there for her. If only I could have done something to help her... Maybe things would be different now. But the guilt, it's like a weight on my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I can't breathe.
Mr. Kuroda, my piano teacher, he's been trying to help me. He's patient and kind, but even he doesn't understand the depth of my pain. I try to focus during practice, to lose myself in the music, but it's useless. My mind keeps wandering back to her, and the ache in my heart just grows stronger.
"Takashi,"
he says, his voice full of concern. "This isn't the first time you've dozed off during practice. You need to focus. If you're serious about improving, you can't let yourself get distracted."
I nod, but the words don't register. All I can think about is her. The memories are so vivid, they feel like they're real. Like she's still here. I can't shake them.
"Takashi, are you even listening?" Mr. Kuroda asks, his voice sharp.
I snap back to reality, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm just... distracted."
He sighs, and I can see the pity in his eyes. "It's okay to be upset, Takashi. But you need to find a way to cope with this. Your grief isn't going anywhere anytime soon."
I know he's right. But how? How do I get through each day without thinking about her? How do I play the piano when it reminds me so much of her? It feels like I'm losing a part of myself with every passing moment.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm just... not myself right now."
Mr. Kuroda studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "It's going to be okay, Takashi. We'll get through this together. Just take it one day at a time, all right?"
I nod, but I don't believe him. Not really. Because the pain is still there, and it feels like it's only going to get worse. And as much as I want to forget, as much as I want to move on... a part of me is scared that I never will.
Some time later
Takashi walked over to his bike, the familiar weight of the handlebars grounding him momentarily. He swung a leg over and started pedaling, the rhythmic motion a small comfort against the torrent of thoughts swirling in his mind.
As he cycled past the houses and shops of his neighborhood, the sun sinking lower in the sky, he couldn't shake the thoughts that gnawed at him.
(You should have done something. If you were a better friend, Naoki would still be here.)
He approached the bridge that spanned a narrow, quiet river. The water below sparkled in the fading light, the scene so peaceful it felt like a cruel contrast to his inner turmoil.
(She counted on you. And you let her down. What kind of friend are you?)
Takashi tightened his grip on the handlebars, his knuckles turning white. He pushed himself to pedal faster, as if he could outrun the relentless barrage of self-recrimination.
(You don't deserve to be happy. You don't deserve to forget.)
The bridge passed beneath his wheels, the soft hum of the tires on the concrete barely registering. He remembered the countless times he and Naoki had raced across this very bridge, laughing and carefree. Now it was a bridge he crossed alone, each pedal stroke a reminder of his failure.
He finally reached the other side and slowed down, his breath coming in heavy pants. He stopped, looking out over the railing at the water below. The gentle current seemed to mock his chaotic thoughts.
(Why did you survive? What makes you so special?)
Takashi's eyes filled with tears. He wiped them away angrily, frustrated at his own weakness.
"Takashi?" a voice called from behind.
He turned to see his neighbor, Mrs. Yamamoto, walking her dog. She looked at him with kind eyes, but he could see the concern there.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently.
He forced a smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, Mrs. Yamamoto. Just... thinking."
She nodded, understanding but not pressing further. "Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."
"Thanks," Takashi replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
As she walked away, he took a deep breath and looked back at the water. Maybe it's time to let go. Maybe it's time to try and forgive yourself.
He stood there for a few more moments, letting the sounds of the evening wash over him. Then, with a determined sigh, he got back on his bike and headed home. The road seemed a little less daunting now, the weight on his shoulders just a bit lighter.
Again, the thoughts didn't disappear completely, but they were quieter now, giving him a small measure of peace. He pedaled steadily, the rhythm soothing his restless mind, as he made his way back to the familiar comfort of home.
The familiarity of his surroundings grounded him, if only for a moment. He knew there would be more nights like this, more moments when the weight of his guilt and despair would threaten to overwhelm him. But for now, he'd take what he could get. He parked his bike and slowly made his way inside, already dreading the lonely night that lay ahead.
Takashi parked his bicycle in front of his parents' house, the familiar creak of the old gate welcoming him. He took a deep breath before stepping inside, bracing himself for the oppressive quiet that had settled over the home like a shroud.
In the hallway, a small Funeral memorial stood solemnly. His mother's picture, framed by delicate paper strips, smiled warmly at him from another time. Takashi's gaze lingered briefly, his heart clenching, but he quickly moved past it. He had grown accustomed to the constant ache of her absence.
Entering the living room, he saw his father by the window, eyes lifeless and distant. The man who once radiated warmth and energy now seemed a shadow of his former self, bound to a wheelchair, staring out at nothing in particular.
"Dad,"
he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he placed the bag of fresh produce on the table.
"I got some fruit from the market."
There was no response, just the faint creak of the wheelchair as his father shifted in his seat.
Takashi sighed softly, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on him. His thoughts drifted to the day they had gone out, the argument they'd had about the directions.
(If only they had taken a different route...If only they hadn't fought...)
He forced himself to look at his father, to focus on the present, but it was hard.
"Dad, do you want me to put on some music?"
he asked, hoping for some kind of reaction. His father just continued to stare out the window, unresponsive. Takashi's heart ached for him, for them all. He went to the old stereo and selected one of his mother's favorite CDs, then sat down across from his father, feeling even more helpless.
As the music filled the room, Takashi closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories and the pain. He wanted to reach out to his father, to make some kind of connection, but it felt like they were both adrift in their own private hells.
"Dad," he whispered,
"do you remember when we used to play this together?"
He listened to his father's breathing, hoping for some sign that he was still there with him.
There was a long silence, and then his father spoke, his voice barely audible.
"Yes... your mother loved this song."
His heart twisted at the mention of her.
"She always said it made her feel like everything would be okay."
Takashi nodded, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He didn't know how much longer they could keep going like this. He wanted to believe that things would get better, that there was hope, but right now it felt like they were just treading water, waiting for the inevitable.
"It's not your fault, Takashi,"
his father said softly, and for a moment, it almost sounded like he was talking to himself.
"You couldn't have known."
Takashi didn't respond. He just sat there, feeling the weight of their loss pressing down on him, wondering how they were ever going to find their way back to something resembling a normal life.